RICE in Reverse
by Phate Phoenix
Summary: AU of ‘The Greater Good’ caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House’s patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won’t know what hit her. House/Wilson, canon!House/Cuddy
1. E: Engage

**fTitle**: R.I.C.E. in Reverse [1/4]  
**Author**: **Phate_Phoenix**  
**Prompt **: 9. House/Wilson – "When everything is wrong, I'll come talk to you" (My Best Friend - Weezer)  
**Pairing**: Canon House/Cuddy, House/Wilson  
**Rating/Warning**: PG-13; Swearing, Spoilers for 'THE GREATER GOOD', Vengeful!House, Hurt!Wilson  
**Summary**: An AU of 'The Greater Good' caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House's patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won't know what hit her.  
**Beta**: **Cielo_Claro** at LiveJournal.  
**Disclaimer**: DO NOT OWN.  
**Notes**: Written for the **House_Of_Fanfic** (of LiveJournal) Annual Contest.

XXXX

**E: Engage**  
_To enter into conflict or battle; To draw into or involve_

"…And her abdominal cavity was filled with blood."

House nodded, striding forward ahead of his group of fellows. Taub had paged him to deliver the panicked news that their patient's stomach had filled with blood, which was caused by her liver just _bleeding_. He pursed his lips, glancing upwards as they made his way towards his office. How odd. "So," he asked, "what causes lungs to deflate like… _me_ after a cold shower, and—"

"House!"

House stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. Behind him, he heard the fellows scuffle and stumble into one another, bringing a smirk to his face. He twisted around to watch as Wilson jogged to catch up with him, his brown eyes wide.

"You rang?" House said, arching an eyebrow. Wilson gestured to the file Taub held in his hand, looking curious and nervous.

"I was just in the ER, and Cameron said you had _the_ Dana Miller as a patient?" he said.

House nodded shortly, but glowered to the side. "Cameron has a big mouth."

Kutner scowled. "It isn't like what you're thinking, Doctor Wilson," he grumbled. Wilson's eyebrows furrowed, and he shot House a questioning glance. House sighed.

"She quit," he said swiftly, watching the look of pure confusion flash across Wilson's face. House shrugged, limping forward and towards his office once again. Wilson stayed a few steps ahead of him, walking backwards.

"Hold on," he said, "you mean to say that Dana Miller just _quit_?"

"Oh, no!" House said, and Wilson blinked. "She quit eight months ago."

Wilson's face flushed slightly, eyes flaring. "You're kidding," he said turning forward. Thirteen shook her head.

"No, we aren't," she said. "She told us herself."

Wilson glowered. "I can't bel—URK!"

There was a strong '_twang_' that rang through the air, like the noise a guitar makes when just one string is plucked. As if the sound had been a signal, Wilson seemed to hurl himself into the air, vaulting through House's doorway. House almost expected him to do a flip and then stick the landing, with roses falling from the sky. However, Wilson merely belly-flopped onto House's grey carpet and went still.

The five doctors standing just before the door were stunned into stillness for several seconds. House regained his senses first and attempted to step into the room, putting his cane forward, and found himself repelled. He looked down and tried again, spying a shimmer of _something_ hanging in the air. Foreman stepped over the invisible barrier while Taub crouched down to inspect it, handing the file off to Kutner. Foreman pressed a hand to Wilson's shoulder.

"You conscious, Doctor Wilson?" he asked. Wilson groaned in response, his hands twitching.

"Yes," was the muffled reply. "I didn't hit my head, just winded me."

Meanwhile, Taub was plucking at the piece of wire strung in the doorway. "Tripwire," Taub declared, glancing at House, before he attempted to remove it.

Kutner and Thirteen stepped around House and into the room. They walked over to the other side of Wilson, but Foreman waved them off. "He _tripped_," he said, frowning. "He doesn't need three doctors hovering over him. Let him catch his breath."

Annoyed that Taub was taking _too damn long_ to remove the wire, House firmly placed his cane on the ground and pushed down on it heavily as he hoisted his right leg over the wire. He moved his cane over next and, with a pained grunt, House quickly hopped his left leg over. After swallowing a Vicodin, House limped next to Foreman, watching as Wilson tried to regain his faculties. He glanced over at Kutner and Thirteen, eyes narrowed. The two glanced at one another.

"Not Foreman or I," Thirteen said.

Kutner gestured at Taub. "We were with the patient."

Wilson chose that moment to let out another low groan, pushing one arm under his body. "Ow," he moaned. Then he slowly tried to roll onto his back, but stopped short when he jostled his right leg. "_Ow_!" He flopped back onto his stomach, hissing.

Foreman, noticing his distress, held Wilson's foot steady as the man turned over. "It looks sprained," he said unnecessarily, which was told to him by the annoyed glance Wilson threw him.

"Thanks," he said shortly, reaching forward and touching his ankle gently.

House smirked down at Wilson before he reached out and poked the offending ankle with his cane, earning a sharp inhalation. "You know," he began, "if you keep testing these doorways for me, you won't have any ankles left to ruin."

Wilson gritted his teeth. "Anything for a friend," he said. With a bit of fumbling and cursing, Foreman managed to get Wilson to his feet and then onto the small brown chair pulled up to the front of House's desk. Once there, they propped his legs on top of the glass desk. House leaned back against the glass wall adjacent to the conference room, watching as Kutner divested Wilson's right foot of its sock and shoe and inspected Wilson's swollen ankle.

Kutner stood up, shrugging slightly. "It's sprained," he said. "Not a horrible one, but you should definitely wrap it and _at least_ get some crutches."

Wilson hit his head back on the metal behind him repeatedly. "I can't believe this," he stated. "I have patients to see today, clinic duty to do… how am I supposed to get all that done on a sprained ankle?"

House raised an eyebrow, tapping his cane against the glass behind him. "How do those cripples _do it_?" he asked, and Wilson frowned at him.

"You've had years of experience," he countered. "I'm just getting my training wheels."

House smirked, and twirled his cane. Then he said in a low tone, "Teach you the ways of the cripple I will, Padawan."

Wilson groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Please, no Yoda," he begged.

House looked around his office, seeing the annoyed faces of his fellows. Taub stood with his hands on his hips, having taken the tripwire down minutes prior, and stared at House. "Why aren't you freaking out about this?"

House gave him a bland look as he moved around to his desk. "That someone got to Wilson before I could? Ha! I could tell you tales—"

"Speak," Wilson warned, arm still over his eyes, "and I'll tell them where you moved your spare key to."

House glowered at him. "You're a cranky cripple…"

Taub frowned. "You should be obsessing over who tried to get you," he said, eyes narrowing. "Someone booby-trapped your office. The only reason you wouldn't be is…" his eyes widened, "if you knew who it was."

Wilson lifted his arm and stared at House with narrowed eyes while the diagnostician dug through his desk for a compression bandage. House lifted his head and stared at the group in front of him. "As much fun as it is trying to figure out who's trying to kill me and _failing_, we have a chef-in-training whose liver is bleeding for no reason and her lungs keep deflating. Anyone get her a liver MRI?"

Kutner gestured to the scan in his hand. "Uh, we did, and there are no cysts, or tumors, so…"

Foreman took the scan from him, and held it out to the light. "There's a small spot on the caudate lobe," he murmured, and Thirteen turned her head to look as he continued. "Could be a granuloma."

Thirteen nodded. "Which could be caused by blastomycosis that _we_ agitated into something more aggressive."

"Great!" House said, standing straight and holding a tan bandage in his hand. He gestured to his fellows with it. "You three go biopsy her lung for blastomycosis and stick it under a black light. It glows, and we're in business." The three turned to leave while Foreman stared at his boss. House limped around his desk and held the wrapping out to him. "Foreman, help me deal with the One-Trip-Wonder here." Foreman glowered before taking it from his hand.

Wilson scowled, but it turned into a grimace as Foreman began to wrap the tan bandage around his ankle. "Seriously," he began, "who'd you piss off?"

House stared at him, affronted. "Why do you assume I _did_ something?" he asked. "You wound me!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and winced again. "Yeah, well, whoever's after you just wounded _me_," House's mouth twitched as Wilson continued, "so I'd like to know who to avoid whenever you're near."

House frowned, leaning against his desk. "Someone who has the power to have the elevators shut down whenever I make an appearance, _and_ order the janitors to set up tripwires in my office."

Wilson grunted as Foreman moved his foot without warning. He then looked at House, eyebrow rising. "Cuddy?" he asked. House shrugged.

Foreman glanced at him. "What'd you do?" he asked. House, however, scowled and gestured back at him.

"We," House began, bright blue eyes flashing, "are not talking about what _I_ did. You," he prodded Foreman's shoulder with his cane when he turned away, "have a problem."

Foreman's eyes darted to Wilson, who looked quite interested in the conversation. He turned back to House, grinding his teeth. "I told you—"

House's eyebrows jerked upwards and he leaned heavily on his cane. "Then you _really_ have a problem." House gestured to the MRI on his desk a few inches from Wilson's foot. "The way Thirteen turned her head to look at this…"

Foreman's hands stilled, and Wilson's eyes darted between the two of them. House watched the neurologist's eyes as he stared at him, a shadow of fear darting through them. "You think she's losing her peripheral vision?" Foreman asked, and House could only shrug. Foreman stared down at his hands and quickly finished wrapping Wilson's ankle, ignoring the man's questioning gaze. He then left without another word.

"What," Wilson began, staring at House over the top of his foot, "was _that_ about?"

House smiled at Wilson, baring his teeth. "Oh," he began, looking upward, "just an exchange between fools in love."

Wilson blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing. "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or if you're just being an ass."

"Can't it be both?" House asked, as if the thought of not being an ass was insulting.

Wilson leaned his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. "Is it both?" he asked. "I mean, there must be a reason you haven't retaliated against Cuddy yet…" House sneered at the wall, his blue eyes bright. Wilson suddenly knew he had spoken too soon. "Uh, House?"

"Well," House began simply, grinning like a four-year-old, "I _was_ planning on just waiting her out," Wilson went slack-jawed at this, "but since we now have collateral damage…" House looked at Wilson's bound foot with a sick pleasure, "I think I've earned the right to some… _return fire_."

Wilson attempted to sit up, but his aching foot inhibited any sort of major movement. "Oh no," he said, wincing as he tried to grab his leg to move, "I am _not_ being the enabler this time!"

House smiled at him, tossing his cane between his hands. "Now, now, Jimmy!" he said pleasantly. "I'm doing this _for_ you!" House pressed his hand to his chest, looking upward into the lights overhead. "I will not let you go gentle into that good night!"

"I'm not _dying_, House."

House, however, spun around and started to limp towards his office door. He paused on the threshold and looked back at him. "I'll go get a nurse to bring up a set of crutches." He paused. "And a sack for your papers, because I doubt you'll follow the whole 'R.I.C.E.' acronym anyway. Then we can go eat lunch. We'll be _limp buddies_!"

Wilson gave House a rather horrified look, mouthing the words '_limp buddies_' to him. House just smiled back. Wilson rolled his eyes, and then paused, frowning. He looked at House with a narrowed, inquisitive gaze.

"Were you just looking for an excuse to get back at Cuddy for this?" House scowled at him, and Wilson grinned. "You were! It's your… sick way of flirting, isn't it? Reverting back to your childhood impulses to push and pinch the girl because you _can't_ figure out another way to get it across!"

"Do you _have_ to psychoanalyze everything I do in terms of how it relates to _Cuddy_?" House said. He then lifted his eyebrows. "People will think you have _feelings_ for her."

Wilson lifted his right leg up and set it gently on the ground, turning to better face House. "Well, it's either that," he began, "or you're doing something nice for me, and the last time you did I ended up on _speed_."

House beamed at him. "Well then, I wouldn't drink any coffee today, huh?"

With that, he strode from the room, leaving a startled Wilson in his wake. Wilson sat in the room for several minutes before he heard two sets of footsteps—the quick clacking of what must have been a nurse and the slower, harsher noise of House—coming towards him. He peered through the glass to spy House leading a harassed-looking Cameron down the hall.

"—And I think Cuddy was trying to kill me, but she got Wilson instead! Thank God for Foreman, who was able to disengage the swinging log trap she had set. I'm sorry to say Chase didn't make it, though."

Cameron merely rolled her eyes as House talked, lugging a set of metal crutches in her arms. "I'm sure House," she said, stepping into the room. Her eyes softened when she saw Wilson sitting in his chair, though, and set the crutches off to the side. "Let me check the wrapping."

House leaned against the doorway, twirling his cane. "Foreman did it," he tattled, and Cameron sighed, adjusting it slightly.

"It's just fine," she said, standing up. She held out her hands and pulled Wilson to one foot before handing him the crutches. "I know better than to tell you to take it easy," Cameron said, smiling knowingly, "but could you at least keep the moving to a minimum?"

Wilson nodded, putting his weight on the crutches. "Yes, Doctor."

Cameron smiled, shaking her head a bit. "Well, I'm off then." She turned to walk past House, but stopped, pointing at him. "Whatever you're planning on doing to get back at Cuddy, leave the ER staff out of it." Message delivered, Cameron strode from the room. House watched her go before shaking his head and turning back to Wilson. He gestured out the door and towards the elevators with his cane.

"Think you can keep up with me?" he said, sneering. Wilson jabbed out with his left crutch, smacking House's good thigh.

"I don't doubt it," Wilson said, smirking when House attempted to hit him back. He missed, of course—the cane had less reach than Wilson's crutch.

The two of them gimped out together, with Wilson on House's left side to avoid any catastrophic cane-crutch collisions. House scowled at how easily Wilson moved on the metal crutches, and contemplated smacking one of them out from under him. He decided against it, however, and slid into the elevator a step ahead of Wilson. Pressing the button for the ground floor, he turned and frowned at him.

"How'd you get so good at that?" House asked, eyebrow arching. Wilson looked up at the lights, smiling a little.

"You caught me, House," he droned, face deadpan. "I've been spending all my time practicing for just such an occasion. I can even walk across a tightrope if necessary."

"Useful skills," House admitted, also looking up at the floor sign above the doors. He then nudged Wilson a little, causing the other doctor to almost lose his balance. "Seriously, what's up with that?"

Wilson shrugged, settling on his feet as their floor approached. "Honestly, House, I don't know. Maybe I was Tiny-Tim in a past life."

House's eyes began to roll, but then they paused. They narrowed a bit, and then House smirked. Wilson frowned at him.

"What are you planning?" he asked.

House sneered back. "C'mon, Tiny-Jim," he said as the door opened. "I know how I'm getting back at Cuddy. Really play it up—I need a sympathetic cripple, and the nurses hate me."

Wilson frowned at him, eyes narrowing. House held up his cane, leaning his head to the side slightly. "I will hit your bad leg with this, or you play along. Either way, I win."

Deciding against further injury, Wilson sagged onto his crutches, wincing as he swung himself forward. House watched as Wilson hissed at any slight pressure placed upon his right foot. He was utterly hamming it up, and House had never been so proud. Instead of saying so, he turned around and limped ahead of Wilson and towards the clinic.

"Hey!" he called, drawing the attention of several nurses. He gestured to himself and Wilson lagging behind. "Anyone help a couple of gimps with their lunch?"

The nurses took one look at Wilson—who smiled and winced at the same time, that damn flirt—and two of them came scurrying over, the others looking on in envy. A young redhead brushed past House and went immediately to Wilson, her black-haired friend only a few paces behind.

"Oh my goodness, Doctor Wilson!" the red-haired harpy gasped. "What happened to you?"

Wilson, still smiling awkwardly, shrugged as best he could. "I, uh, tripped."

"Tripped?!" House shouted, and several nurses threw him a curious glance. "You didn't _just_ trip," he continued. He turned to the black-haired nurse whose nametag—which was clipped to her chest, practically inviting him to ogle her—read 'Jenny Grey'. He looked back at her face though, to say, "Someone set a tripwire."

Jenny gasped. "_What_?! Who would do such a thing?!"

House shrugged, looking around a little. "Well, I don't know for sure, but whoever it is has power over the janitors. I mean, this morning the elevators were out of service on and off." Jenny and the redhead exchanged a glance. House leaned forward a bit. "It's like whoever set the wire wanted Wilson to have to use the stairs after he sprained his ankle."

Wilson flushed immediately and shook his head a bit. "No, now you're just making a scene," he grumbled, and looked to the ground. The redhead—Bethany, House read on her boobs—shook her head quickly.

"No, no! We saw that this morning, too! Remember, Jenny? The janitors were all over the elevator doors. I saw some yellow paper on them. Was that what it was all about?"

House nodded. "Yup. I had to take the stairs myself." Jenny spared him a sympathetic glance that caused House to swallow the scathing retort that immediately leapt to his mind. Instead, he just shrugged. "What can we do? Whoever's behind it has way too much time on her…" House paused, looking to the side, "or, uh, _his_ hands. Who knows what else they have planned for Wilson?"

House looked up to see both nurses looking at one another, dawning comprehension in their eyes. Jenny glanced at Cuddy's office, and House struggled not to smirk when she looked back at him. "I don't think _she'll_ have a lot of free time on her hands today," she said, and trotted off, back to the main clinic desk. Bethany stuck by Wilson, patting his shoulder.

"C'mon," she said, "I'll carry your tray for lunch."

Wilson smiled at her, dimples showing. "Thank you," he said. He led the way with her by his side, and House followed, still basking in the glory of his absolute victory.

Once they had a table and Bethany had left them to their own devices, Wilson pointed at him with a French fry, obviously fighting a smile. "I can't believe you did that," he said.

House stole one of Wilson's fries and gave him a bewildered look. "What?"

"You," Wilson began, "the most _hated doctor in the whole hospital_, managed to turn Cuddy's nurses against her. And you didn't even have to outright _lie_!" There was something akin to admiration in Wilson's gaze, mixing in with the exasperation. "You are truly a master."

House grinned at him. "Well, without you it wouldn't have worked," he admitted. Wilson's eyebrow arched, and House shrugged. "You're very pretty, and flirt with anything that has a pulse. You're boyish charms kept them from asking too many questions."

Wilson scowled, shoving another fry into his mouth. "I'm not sure which I should be insulted more about: that you used me like that, or that you just called me _pretty_."

House frowned, leaning his head to the side as he speared another one of Wilson's fries with his fork. "What would you prefer?" He took the fry into his mouth and began to chew. "Beautiful? Gorgeous? _Perky_?"

Wilson ran a hand over his eyes. "How about something more masculine?"

"…Butch?"

Wilson stabbed his salad, mouth twitching into a smile of its own volition. "Gee, thanks," he said.

Their conversation trickled through several topics—the next monster truck rally, the newest member of Prescription Passion's cast, the new Monster Truck special airing on Thursday in four nights, Cuddy, Cuddy's breasts—before Wilson finally crossed his arms and leaned forward a bit.

"So," he began, "Dana Miller?"

House, who had been waiting for him to bring up his newest patient since they had sat down, nodded, spearing another fry with his fork. "Yup. She hath cast off the shackles, binding her to her laboratory, and taken up the Sword of Sustenance."

Wilson stared at him before scowling at his half-a-sandwich. House quickly snatched it off his plate, causing Wilson to glare at him. "Hey! I was going to eat that!"

House wiggled the sandwich in his hand before taking a bite out of it. "You were glaring at it," he said with a full mouth, "like you were trying to make it burst into flames." Wilson looked away and House swallowed the bite down before continuing. "I know you think you're Superman, but, really, you're not."

Wilson stared at him. "But… my parents said—"

"Lies," House affirmed, nodding sagely. Wilson looked away, into space.

"All this time…" he whispered. Then he snickered, glancing over at House. "Which room is she in?"

"Huh?" House said. "Oh, cancer lady. Or, rather, light-on-the-cancer lady. Two hundred forty-seven." Wilson nodded, laying his fork onto the side of his plate, his eyes narrow. House squinted, smiling, and turned his head slightly. "You're not going to harass _my_ patient, are you?"

Wilson shuffled awkwardly to his feet, blinking innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, and pushed himself away from the table. He settled his crutches beneath his arms and limped to the exit. Just as he reached the doorway, a voice called out to him:

"Don't kill her until _after_ I've diagnosed her, okay?!"

Wilson rolled his eyes, sighing at the few nurses who gave him a second glance. "It's House," he explained, and they nodded, smiling sympathetically.

Wilson trekked across the ground floor and slipped into the open and recently emptied elevator, pushing the button for the second floor. The doors began to slide shut and Wilson settled against the back of the metal box, slouching against the crutches.

"Hold the elevator!"

Wilson started, jerking straight up before using his crutch to jab the open button just before the doors slid closed. They bounced open, and a frantic, haggard-looking Cuddy stood on the other side, holding a stack of files in her arms and a bag hanging off her elbow. She smiled at him without actually seeing him. She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor before heading to the other corner and sagging against it.

"Thanks, Wilson," she finally said before flipping through her files. "It was peaceful this morning," Cuddy grumbled, pausing on a file and reading it over. "Then about twenty minutes ago, I'm _swamped_, and all of the nurses are busy. I've never seen anything like it before. I have about fifteen files to take to legal." She looked up at him and her eyes widened at the set of metal crutches Wilson had been using. He merely grinned thinly at her. "Oh my God," she whispered, closing the file in her hand and taking a few tentative steps forward. "What happened, Wilson? You didn't have these this morning!"

Wilson shrugged, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head. "It only happened about an hour ago," he said, looking at Cuddy. His brows furrowed and he looked towards the floor. "I managed to sprain my ankle."

"How?" Cuddy asked, standing in front of him and looking him over. Wilson scowled darkly and glared off to the side, clutching his crutches tighter.

"Some _psychopath_," Wilson spat, careful to keep his eyes off Cuddy, "put tripwire in House's doorway!" He ran a hand over his face, feeling his real frustrations rise to the top. "What if I hadn't gone first? What if _House_ had walked through his doorway?" he asked, glancing at Cuddy to see her face carefully blank. Wilson looked away, feeling disgust crawling across his face. "At least _I_ can still use crutches if my leg is injured. House could have ended up in a wheelchair! Or even exacerbated his thigh!"

Cuddy remained silent, looking down at the files in her hands. Wilson wanted to smack her with his crutches, but he refrained and merely looked back at the numbers. "Do you think you could have someone looking into it?" he asked. "I'm… worried."

Cuddy cleared her throat as the doors chimed and slid open. Wilson pushed himself past her and through the doors. He looked over his shoulder at her and she gave him a strained smile. "I," she began haltingly, "I… I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Wilson said, and smiled at her as the door shut. Once the elevator was on the move to the fourth floor, Wilson glared at the doors before swinging around and limping down the second floor hallway and towards the intensive care unit. The room holding his target was several yards down the hallway, and he had to endure the pitying gazes of several nurses before he managed to reach the door. He was beginning to understand what House meant about '_hating pity_'.

It wasn't until Wilson slid open the glass door and awkwardly hopped into the room that he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. Dana Miller looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, eyebrows furrowed as she took in the crutches he was adjusting under his arms. She smiled, watching him as he swung himself to the foot of her bed.

"Ah, Doctor Miller," he began, straightening and resting most of his weight on his left foot, "I don't know if you remember me—"

"Doctor James Wilson," she said, smiling slightly, "from the adenocarcinoma conference in Chicago, right?" She winced and reached up to scratch at her temple.

Wilson's eyebrows rose and he smiled weakly. "Huh, good memory."

Dana's smile was just as weak, as if she knew why Wilson was actually there. "You gave a very memorable presentation."

Wilson nodded, glancing off to the side. Finally, he turned back to her, eyes hardened. "Why did you quit?"

Dana sighed, dropping her hand onto the bed and looking at the wall for a moment. "Certainly not for the sheer abundance of goodwill I receive for doing something that makes me happy."

"What?" Wilson asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "Do you want me to send you a hallmark card?" Bitterness leaked into his tone as he continued. "'Thanks for leaving us, have a good life'?"

Dana sat up straighter, frowning. "I didn't _leave_ anyone. My research can be continued just as easily by some other cancer specialist. _You_ can even continue my research." She scratched at her scalp again, wincing. "Life is far too short to allow yourself to be unhappy."

Wilson's eyes clenched shut and he inhaled deeply. Then he looked back at her, scowling. "If doing something that makes you happy hurts others, then it's disgusting. If you have to sacrifice someone for your happiness, then it isn't worth it!" he snarled.

Wilson blinked a few times and ran a hand over his face, inhaling shakily. Dana set her hands to the side and looked at him, as if trying to see through him. "Are we still talking about me, Doctor Wilson?"

Wilson winced and turned away. "I… I…" he stuttered, "I… have to go. Good luck." He stumbled as he hurried from the room, hissing when he put too much pressure on his right foot in the rush. He didn't bother to close the door after he hopped through it, knowing that a nurse would be there momentarily to do it for him.

Wilson gimped to the elevator, trying to clear his mind of the sympathetic look Dana sent him as he scurried from her room like a scared mouse. He could only hope that if he stayed in his office for the rest of the day, House would be too busy to interrupt him. If Wilson saw him anytime soon, he was sure the sheer guilt of what he had done to his friend even months ago would suffocate him.


	2. C: Counterattack

**Title**: R.I.C.E. in Reverse [2/4]  
**Author**: **Phate_Phoenix**  
**Prompt **: 9. House/Wilson – "When everything is wrong, I'll come talk to you" (My Best Friend - Weezer)  
**Pairing**: Canon House/Cuddy, House/Wilson  
**Rating/Warning**: PG-13; Swearing, Spoilers for 'THE GREATER GOOD', Vengeful!House, Hurt!Wilson  
**Summary**: An AU of 'The Greater Good' caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House's patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won't know what hit her.  
**Beta**: **Cielo_Claro** at LiveJournal.  
**Disclaimer**: DO NOT OWN.  
**Notes**: Written for the **House_Of_Fanfic** (of LiveJournal) Annual fContest.

XXXX

**C: Counterattack**  
_The act of retaliating; Revenge_

"The patient had better be dying, or I'm going to fire you. All of you. And then write really bad stuff about you in my diary."

_"…You don't actually keep a diary, do you?"_

House ignored Kutner's skeptical voice, and instead squinted in the darkness at his alarm clock again, because he couldn't quite believe that his fellows would wake him up at the ungodly hour of five in the morning. "Why? You'll never find it." He sat up and ran a hand over his face. "What's so important that you had to _call me_?"

_"First off, Miller isn't dying—"_

"Great opener. Now, how do you want that to read on your personnel file? 'Fired due to incompetence', or 'might have brain damage'?"

_"—However, she _did_ scratch a hole through her skull and into her brain last night."_

House paused, staring blankly into his dark bedroom, and then smirked. "Alright, you get to keep your job. What's going on?"

Kutner's voice contained a smug air that House both wanted to encourage and tear apart. _"Foreman checked up on her before he went home, and found her with some brain matter sticking out of her skull,"_ Kutner said. _"I saw it before they took her into surgery. It was kinda cool."_

House rolled his eyes and snatched the orange container from his nightstand, shaking out a lone, white pill. "And?" he said before swallowing the Vicodin.

_"Oh, and Chase and Taub are currently in surgery with her."_

"That's it?" House said as he rose from his bed. He limped through his bedroom and into the hallway. "Is there anything _else_ about the patient that you know?"

_"Like what?"_

"Oh, what's her favorite song, where does she go to have her nails done, _does she have brain damage_?"

For a moment, House heard only silence from Kutner's end of the line. _"Uh… sorry?"_ the fellow began, and House planned on making him far sorrier than he already was. _"It was _really_ early this morning when they started the surgery. I went home to sleep as soon as I could get out. I _just_ got into work. Foreman and _Thirteen_ just got into work. Taub isn't even out of surgery yet."_

House paused in the middle of his living room, shaking his head. "Thank God you're there now," he said, and hung up the phone.

It was another hour and a half before House gimped his way into the hospital, only minutes behind the New Jersey sunrise. He made sure to smile at Cuddy through her office doors as he passed. Her glare, in return, promised retribution and pain. House made his way to the elevators and rode them to the second floor, where he spotted his fellows—except the tiny Jewish one—sitting in front of the admitting desk.

"I'm _so_ glad you woke me up for _this_," he called, startling Kutner from his newspaper. Foreman merely glanced over his shoulder at him, and Thirteen squinted up at him through her bangs. House limped forward and stopped in front of the desk. He raised his eyebrows and looked at the group. "Any changes?"

Kutner frowned and then shook his head. "No," he said. At House's glare he held up his hands placatingly. "There are, like, twenty students in the observation deck. They won't let any more in."

"Besides," Foreman said, drawing House's attention, "the surgery is almost complete. Taub should be out any minute."

"Any second, actually."

House looked up to spy Taub slipping out of the OR, adorned in a set of clean scrubs. House tapped his cane a few times on the ground. "Tell me, Doctor," he said dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest, "will she ever dance again?"

Taub stared at him before rubbing his face, as if trying to remove the dark circles under his eyes. He wandered around the couches and finally took a seat next to Kutner, sagging. He looked over at House and shrugged slightly. "Amazingly, her scratching didn't cause any brain damage," he said, "and I was able to use a free-flap closure, so she won't have any scarring." He looked over at Foreman, shrugging one shoulder. "But, when she woke up, she said it was still itching."

Kutner's eyes brightened, and he sat up. "Hey, there was another woman who did the same thing a few months ago!" he said. The group looked at him and he continued. "Yeah, scratched right into her brain. She actually managed to paralyze herself, though."

House hooked his cane on the support beam above his head before turning back to him. "Did the woman also present with deflating lungs and a bleeding liver?"

"Uh," Kutner began, "no, but—"

"Then I don't care," House said, smiling.

Foreman leaned forward in his chair. "Itch receptors are only in the top two layers of skin," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Then whatever is wrong is in her brain," Kutner offered.

Thirteen glared at him. "Are you going to keep saying useless things all day, or are you just getting it out of your system?"

Kutner stared at her, wide-eyed. Taub tilted his head to look at her. Foreman frowned, brows furrowed. Thirteen blinked a few times before putting her head in her hands. "Sorry," came the muffled reply, "I have a headache."

Kutner smiled awkwardly at her and then glanced at Foreman and Taub. "It's, eh, it's fine," he said. "Don't worry about it." He turned back to House and shrugged. "It could be a psychosis. I mean, she made a _huge_, life-changing decision. Could be because of mental imbalance."

Taub looked over at Kutner, raising his eyebrows. "Just because she wants to be happy doesn't mean she's crazy."

Foreman frowned at them. "Besides, the itching started yesterday, not eight months ago."

House smirked, eyeing Kutner. "You really _are_ full of useless ideas today, aren't you?"

Kutner scowled and slouched backwards. "It could be a brain tumor."

"Or senile plaques," Foreman offered.

Taub looked at House. "MS would explain the itching and possibly the lungs."

House rolled his eyes. "As much fun as it is standing here, listening to you all guess unlikelier and unlikelier things, how about you MRI her brain so we have an idea?"

The fellows looked between each other before quickly rising and rushing from the room, while House watched, amused. His hand automatically rose to snatch the end of his cane, and closed around nothing. He turned, startled, and stared at the empty space beside him.

"What…?" he mumbled, squinting as he turned and scanned the room. He stopped and closed his eyes, clenching his jaw shut and balling his fists. Exhaling through his nose, House opened his eyes and looked around once more. He spotted a mop sitting in a wheeled bucket only a few feet from him, abandoned and unguarded. After a last—and, if House was honest with himself, somewhat _desperate_—glance, he limped to the mop and grasped the wooden handle. Leaning on it heavily, House made his way towards the elevator.

The water smelled like an old towel, or a wet dog, and sloshed against the sides with every step; drops would fall out and onto the hallway. As the bucket moved along the floor, it would squeak loud and sharp. As House came closer to the elevator, the noise sounded more and more like '_vengeance_…' '_vengeance_…'

When he boarded, a doctor from nephrology—Campson, if House recalled correctly—smirked at the bucket he walked with. "What?" Campson asked. "Did Cuddy _finally_ demote you?"

House sneered at the bespectacled man. "Your wife still screwing the babysitter? Or did she finally _leave_ you?" At Campson's widened stare, he grinned. "I suppose you must be rather small, if it was so easy for her to just jump to the other gender."

Campson cleared his throat and dropped his gaze, blushing.

When the doors opened to the ground floor, House limped as quickly as he could towards the glass doors of the Dean's office. After getting through the first set of doors, House squeaked his way easily past the second set, as a door was already propped open.

"This means war, you know," he said cheerfully, stopping just beyond the doorway.

Cuddy froze at her desk and sighed, glancing over her shoulder. She glared at him. "I thought we already were at war," she said, glowering, "what with the sudden increase of paperwork I have to do, and Wilson limping through the hospital giving '_poor, poor House_' speeches."

House raised an eyebrow. "_What_ about Wilson?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and turned around completely, tossing the file in her hand onto her desk. "Oh, don't play dumb," she snapped. "Wilson's on crutches and he gave me this whole spiel about how worried he was that some psychopath was after you. Your idea, I suppose?"

"Wilson's on crutches," House said slowly, as if talking to five-year-old, "because he _sprained his ankle_ by falling over the tripwire in my doorway." Cuddy tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. House rolled his eyes and gestured with his left hand as he snarled, "Ask Cameron or Foreman if you don't believe me." Then, he squinted at Cuddy, fighting a grin. "He called you a psychopath?"

"Indirectly," Cuddy said quickly, defensive. Then shook her head and held up hands. "Wait, I don't care," she said, glaring at House, "because you deserve this."

"Couldn't you have just smothered me with your funbags?" House asked, leering at Cuddy's chest. "I would learn my lesson much faster."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "In your dreams."

"_Often_ in my dreams, actually. Like last night—"

Cuddy slammed her foot down, planting her fists on her hips and glaring at him. "I don't care _how_ perverted you get, House. You'll have to do much better than that to see your cane again."

House scoffed, looking away. "This wasn't about my cane."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows. "This isn't some sort of… negotiation?"

"No," House said. "We don't negotiate with terrorists."

Cuddy stared blankly at him. "If anyone in this room is a terrorist, it's _you_."

House raised an eyebrow at her. "Just because you represent _the man_ doesn't make me the terrorist."

"No," Cuddy began, "you're the terrorist because you cause _terror_."

"You're using your executive power to harass me. Does that make you a tyrannical dictator?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and sighed. "Just do what you came to do and _go_," she grumbled.

House stood tall as he could while leaning against the mop. "Just know that you brought this upon yourself." He pointed at her, frowning. "If you break anything else of mine—"

"Don't be so melodramatic," Cuddy snapped, turning back to her desk. "I haven't broken your cane."

House paused, finger curving in the air, and grunted, "See that it stays that way."

"Great," she said, "message received." She pointed to the doorway without looking at him. "Now, _leave_."

House lifted his head and gimped from the room, the bucket sounding off his departure. He noisily made his way through the lobby, and paused at the elevators. He pressed the call button and waited for the doors to open.

"_House_?"

House closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then he sighed and looked over his shoulder. Wilson, still on the metal crutches and adorned in his winter coat, stared at him with bewildered eyes. They strayed down to the mop and bucket and blinked. He then looked back up at House, mouth opening and closing. The elevator doors, thankfully, opened before he could say anything, and House pushed his way into the now-empty room. Wilson quickly hopped in after him.

"House," he asked, slowly and cautiously, as the doors closed and the elevator began to move, "why do you have a mop? Where's your cane?"

House glowered at Wilson, eyes narrowed. "My cane and I are having a trial separation." He shrugged and looked at the lights. He leaned over and whispered in a scandalous tone, "I caught him sleeping with the enemy, so I'm getting revenge-sex with this mop and bucket."

Wilson paused, decoding the message, and then turned to stare slack-jawed at him. "Cuddy _stole your cane_?!" His face flushed and his fingers clenched tighter around the handles of his crutches.

House smiled at him as the doors slid open and he began to gradually squeak his way down the hall. Wilson released his death grip on the crutches' handles and swung out after him. "Wait House!" he shouted, and House glanced over his shoulder.

"What?"

Wilson paused beside him before offering his right crutch. "Trade you."

House looked at it before turning his gaze on Wilson. "Why?" he asked, leering. "Did you make a mess in the clinic with a nurse?" However, he took the crutch from Wilson and began to fiddle with the height.

Wilson, meanwhile, grabbed the mop handle and dragged it to the top of the stairwell, which was actually devoid of people for once. As he checked the empty halls for any witnesses, House hobbled over, adjusting his pace to work around the crutch.

"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at Wilson.

Wilson smirked back at him before stepping behind the mop bucket. "Watch," he said. Then he inhaled.

"HEY!" Wilson shouted in a frantic tone, startling House. "LOOK OUT!" With a hard shove from Wilson's remaining crutch, the mop and bucket went sailing down the stairs, water splashing everywhere. It hit the landing and seemed to _explode_, sending water pouring down the stairs and onto the floor below.

House gaped openly at Wilson, who leaned over the railing. "Oh my God," Wilson called, staring as the water leaked down the stairs and spread across the third floor, "is everyone alright?"

"Doctor Wilson!" one of the nurses called, carefully treading through the water and peering up at him. "What happened?"

Wilson shook his head. "I'm so sorry," he said. "One of my crutches hit it while I was walking."

The nurse looked at the mess before squinting at Wilson again. "What was it doing up there by itself?"

"I think House was using it as a… cane of sorts," Wilson said. "His other one was stolen."

"What?!"

"Yeah, it's gone."

"I heard someone put _tripwire_ in his office doorway. Is that true?"

Wilson nodded. "Seems like someone's out to get him."

The nurse frowned at the water before looking up. "I… heard some rumors…" she frowned and shook her head. "Never mind. I'll have someone come clean this up. Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm just going to check on House, make sure he's alright," Wilson said, shooting a glance at the grinning House. "I don't want to think about how hard it was for him to walk with a wheeled bucket."

"If he needs a cane, tell him to call the nurse's station," she said. "We'll bring one to him."

Wilson smiled winningly at her. "Thank you so much. House may not appreciate it, but… I do."

"Of course," the nurse says, smiling back at him. "I… hope your ankle feels better."

"Thank you, Demy."

The nurse blushed suddenly. She nodded and rushed away, giggling. Wilson turned back around, smiling smugly. House only shook his head.

"You are like watching _art_," House declared, and Wilson stood straighter.

"Years of practice," he said smoothly.

House shook his head and limped toward his office. He glanced over his shoulder. "Aren't you coming to my office, to make sure the poor, old cripple is okay?"

Wilson took up step beside him, grinning. "Actually, I'm coming to finish the job." He gestured behind him. "That was all a distraction."

"Ingenious," House said, stopping at his office door and pushing it open with the crutch under his arm, "they'll never suspect a thing."

Wilson limped in before him and held the door open as House followed. He let the door go and it closed automatically. House limped to his desk and leaned the crutch against it before taking a seat in his chair. Wilson paused by the chair on the other side of House's desk, setting the crutch on the floor and shrugging off his jacket. He hung it on the back of the chair before taking a seat and propping his right foot, wrapped again in a compression bandage and covered by several layers of socks to keep the cold out, onto House's desk.

"So," House said, eyeing Wilson, "are you going to explain what that was all about?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and looked at House blankly. "There is a method to my madness," he said. When House continued to stare, Wilson sighed. "I was building on your interactions with the nurses yesterday. The nurses all know that Cuddy was behind the elevators and the tripwire. Hearing that your cane was stolen, they'll put two and two together."

House grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Ah, human manipulation—the gift that keeps on giving."

House turned to his computer while Wilson shifted his chair around to the side, so that he was able to comfortably reach across House's desk. Wilson's eyes darted up to House's face before twitching back down to the assortment of pens, pencils, and highlighters that were littered across the glass surface. He began to pull them towards himself.

"What are you up to?" Wilson asked, placing the writing utensils into separate piles.

House glanced at him, smirking. "I'm ordering Cuddy ten volumes of gay porn." Wilson began to cough viciously and House went on. "Kind of a… welcome back present."

After Wilson regained control of himself, he smiled and leaned to get a better look at the computer screen. "Gay porn?" he asked.

House nodded, sticking the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. "Yup," he replied. He looked over at Wilson, frowning contemplatively. "Which do you think she'd like better? Lesbians or Gays?"

"She's going to kill you."

"You're right," House said. He turned back to the computer. "Cuddy loves variety. You can see it in the way she dresses. I'll get both."

Wilson shook his head, turning back to his organizing. "You honestly take the cake, House."

"You think it's too much?" House asked, looking over at him. Wilson stared back and House nodded. "You're right, it's far too much." He turned back to the screen and began to type. "I'll use _her_ credit card instead."

Wilson snickered, turning back to his project. "Yeah, _that'll_ go over way better."

House merely grinned.

The two eased into a period of silence, neither attempting to break it, both appreciating it. As Wilson organized the utensils in front of him according to type and color, he shot House quick glances, as if ensuring House was too busy to notice said glances.

He wasn't.

"So, what are you sitting on?"

Wilson had to fight to not jerk up and stare at House. Instead, he calmly lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

House turned his chair to face Wilson once more, leaning back and staring at him, inspecting him, diagnosing him. "You're tense and you keep shooting me these looks, as if you're checking to make sure I have no idea what's going on in your head," House said, smirking. "You've got something that's just _killing_ you to say. So, what is it?"

Wilson turned his eyes back to the pens and began to reorganize them according to height. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Puh-_leeeeze_," House said, reaching over and altering Wilson's order by rearranging the pens, pencils, and highlighters by thickness of tip, "you hid in your office after your little chat with my patient yesterday. I didn't see you until this morning."

Wilson winced, his hands freezing in midair. He reached around and rubbed the back of his neck, looking to the side. "It's… it's just…"

House flung a red pen at him, pegging Wilson between the eyes. "What'd she say that spooked you? C'mon—I'll just ask her myself if you don't spill."

Wilson rubbed the middle of his forehead, glowering at House. "She made me think about… stuff. Specifically, how I've… hurt you. In the past."

House's brows furrowed and he frowned. "Are you talking about when you cut halfway through my cane? Because that's nothing like what Cuddy's doing. That was _awesome_."

Wilson blinked. "Actually, no. I wasn't talking about that. But is that really so different?" he asked, running a hand over his face. "I could have hurt you. It's no better than the tripwire."

House rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Sure it is," House said. "I wanted that to happen. I thought you figured that out."

Wilson frowned at him. "Then what's the difference between you and me _then_ and what's going on between you and Cuddy _now_?"

House stared at him as though Wilson's face had turned silver with purple spots. "Because you had something to gain," House said, "a cause you were fighting for. Cuddy's just out to get me. There's no reason, no agenda. It's because '_I deserve it_', not to teach me a life lesson or to make me do something."

Wilson gaped, squinting at House. "That's it?" he asked, bewildered. "Because I wanted you to leave me alone, _that's_ why I'm better than her?"

House shrugged. "It's one of the few things you're better at than she is, but yeah. Basically."

Wilson slouched in his chair, staring into space. "I… can't believe that's it."

"It's not that surprising," House said. "I only do things to get what I want, or to get leverage. Not just to do something. Why wouldn't I expect that from everyone else?"

Wilson only shook his head, smiling. He then frowned, brows furrowing. "Wait," he said, "then why are you reacting to what Cuddy's doing?"

House frowned at him. "Didn't I already explain this to you?" he asked. Then he smiled, throwing his arms upward. "It's all for _you_, Jimmy!"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Seriously, House—"

"But we got off subject," House said, and Wilson glowered back at him. "You said it _wasn't_ about the cane issue." Wilson palmed his face, and House continued. "What _was_ it about, Wilson?"

It was just then, however, that Wilson's pager went off. He snatched the device from his beltline and gazed at its face. He grinned over it at House, who scowled back at him. "Sorry," Wilson said, "but Brown needs me. This conversation will just have to wait."

Wilson dragged his foot off House's desk and pushed himself to his feet. He felt House's eyes on him the entire time he adjusted his crutch under his arm. Finally, House smirked.

"You can't run forever," he said. "Sooner or later, we'll finish this conversation." House smiled wickedly. "I have ways of making you talk."

Wilson stared back at him, bored. "I'll be waiting," he replied. He looked to his other crutch and met House's eyes. "Keep that crutch to remember me by," he said, brushing a finger along his hairline before pointing at House. House faked a swoon from his seat, and Wilson limped away, grinning.

XXXX

Wilson wasn't sure how he managed to end up in front of Dana Miller's door yet again. After the consult with Brown about Wilson's newest patient, Janice Dayson—thirty-four-year-old female, colorectal cancer, three years; Wilson's youngest patient, Scott Hubbard—four-year-old male, clear cell sarcoma of the left kidney, treatment appeared effective; and a brief visit to the vending machines for a pick-me-up of M&M's, Wilson had overheard from a passing nurse that Dana Miller was between tests and resting. Before Wilson knew what was happening, he found himself limping down the hallway of the second floor, only stopping when he was in front of a familiar sliding glass doorway.

He considered, briefly, limping on by and acting as though he'd only stopped to adjust his crutch, but when Dana Miller looked up and saw him through the glass, Wilson's pride wouldn't let him. So he pushed open the door and found it far easier this time, what with only one arm burdened by a crutch.

Wilson limped, once more, to the foot of Dana's bed and looked the woman over. Her head had been bandaged at the temple, where she'd scratched at the day before. Her hands were placed in white mitts to prevent any further damage to herself. She looked back at him, just as much inspecting him as he was her. It only took that moment for Wilson to realize exactly what he should say to her.

"Were you really so miserable before?"

…And it wasn't that. He closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing. When he looked back at Dana, Wilson hoped she could see the apology in his eyes that he couldn't seem to spit out.

"I was."

Dana, however, merely continued the conversation, as though there were nothing odd about Wilson bursting into her room after she had undergone invasive brain surgery and rudely demanding answers of her. Wilson smiled bitterly to himself. All he needed was a limp and—

"Oh God," he said suddenly, making Dana frown at him. Wilson placed a hand over his eyes. "I've become House."

"I doubt that," Dana said, and Wilson peered at her as he dropped his hand. She shrugged as best she could. "The nurses don't stop talking about House, especially now that there's someone out to get him. You're fine, Doctor Wilson."

Wilson frowned at her. "It wouldn't be so horrible to become House," he said immediately. "He's not some sort of… monster."

Dana went silent and stared, hard, at Wilson. He shuffled awkwardly before pulling himself up straighter. "But… anyway," he began, more to change the subject than to discover anything, "why were you so miserable?"

Dana allowed the change easily. "Because I wasn't living for myself," she said. "I was living for others. My life no longer belonged to me. I existed only to work in that lab. I was utterly and completely stuck." She frowned, setting her mitted hands close together. "I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't live my life set on repeat, no matter what anyone else expected of me. I had to get out."

Wilson stared at her, feeling desperate and not understanding why. "Is that so horrible?" he asked. "To live for others? Isn't it… like being in love? To live so completely for another person?"

Dana nodded again and she smiled gently, her eyes softening. "Yes, it would be like being in love," she admitted. Wilson exhaled, but Dana continued. "But it's not the same," she said, "because I don't love everyone. If I did, then my job would have been perfect. It would make me happy to make them happy. Fulfill me. But it didn't."

Wilson felt defeated. He slouched against his crutch, feeling the aches from his joints call out to him. Dana watched him for several moments, leaning her head slightly to the side.

"Do you love your job?"

Wilson looked up at her, frowning. "Yes," he said, "I do. I couldn't imagine doing anything else."

"Then," Dana began, sitting up slightly, "do you have someone you live for?"

Wilson felt himself pale and he stiffened automatically. "I…" he began, trying to sort out his conflicted thoughts. There was no one waiting for him at his apartment. There was someone waiting for him, for a lunch date. "I don't…"

Wilson couldn't tell his mouth what to do. He couldn't make up his mind. His free hand clenched and unclenched at his side. He stumbled backwards, paying no mind to his ankle.

Dana watched him passively as Wilson quickly made his way to the sliding glass door again. "I hope," she said as Wilson fought to pull the door open, "that you and I will finish _one_ conversation without you running off."

Wilson didn't close the door behind him that time, either.


	3. I: Inundation

**Title**: R.I.C.E. in Reverse [3/4]  
**Author**: **Phate_Phoenix**  
**Prompt **: 9. House/Wilson – "When everything is wrong, I'll come talk to you" (My Best Friend - Weezer)  
**Pairing**: Canon House/Cuddy, House/Wilson  
**Rating/Warning**: PG-13; Swearing, Spoilers for 'THE GREATER GOOD', Vengeful!House, Hurt!Wilson  
**Summary**: An AU of 'The Greater Good' caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House's patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won't know what hit her.  
**Beta**: **Cielo_Claro** at LiveJournal.f  
**Disclaimer**: DO NOT OWN.  
**Notes**: Written for the **House_Of_Fanfic** (of LiveJournal) Annual Contest.

XXXX

**I: Inundation**  
_To overwhelm as if with a flood_

Wilson stared at the scene before him, frozen with one hand on his office door and the other clutching the handle of his crutch. House lay on Wilson's office couch, mouth agape, feet crossed. Fast food wrappers, a half-eaten bag of chips, and a soft drink container littered the surface of the coffee table beside him. Wilson sighed, easing himself into his office and gently closing the door behind him. He limped to the table and stood there for a moment. He placed one hand on his hip and shook his head.

"I know work is important to you," Wilson began loudly, and House's eyes snapped open, darting around before spotting Wilson, "but the bad back and aching leg you'll get from sleeping on my couch isn't worth the time you'll save from driving."

House leaned his head back on the couch, wincing, and ran a hand over his face. "But then I wouldn't get to wake up to your lovely face every morning."

Wilson rolled his eyes and leaned his crutch against his desk. "It's not that special," he said as he bent down to pick up the remnants of House's late-night meal. "Ask my ex-wives." He threw the trash away and turned back just as House was moving his leg to sit up.

Wilson tossed his jacket across his desk and grabbed his crutch before limping to his couch. He set the crutch against its side and took a seat. House raised an eyebrow at him and Wilson scoffed. "It's _my_ couch," he argued. Then he nudged House's shoulder, grinning. "So, what happened? Cuddy have your locks changed? Stole your car?"

House stretched his arms and yawned before saying, "Someone called to have my heat and electricity cut off last night. Apparently, _I'm moving_."

"_What_?" Wilson asked, eyes wide. He frowned, brows furrowing. "Who besides you can turn off your utilities?"

House smiled, leaning back against the black cushions. "Turns out I'm also _married_."

Wilson blinked dumbly at him for a moment. "And you didn't invite me to the wedding?" he asked, fighting a grin.

House smiled placatingly at him and patted Wilson's knee. "If I know me, and I like to think I do, I wouldn't have let you near my wife. You have a problem collecting them, so I didn't want to tempt you with mine."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "You're a real pal, House," he droned.

"We've got to look out for one another," House said, nodding.

Wilson reached over and stroked the metal of his crutch, smirking. "Want me to break Cuddy's kneecaps then?"

House stared, mouth agape. Then he sat up straighter. "That's my _wife_ you're talking about!"

"That's true," Wilson said. He grinned at House and leaned against the other man so just their shoulders touched. "Then I know a great divorce lawyer for you."

House smirked back. "That's the most thoughtful gift anyone's ever given to me."

House turned his head towards the door and yawned again, but made no attempt to move away. Wilson studied House's face, seeing the dark circles under his eyes caused by a restless night tossing and turning on a couch made more for neutrality and creating an air of comfort than actually _being_ comfortable. Wilson gritted his teeth and mentally went through his schedule—Cuddy was due for another intervention, one with a bit more kick than the last one.

House turned his head, looking Wilson in the eye. Wilson's mind froze, as though House had pressed '_pause_' on his mental faculties. The steely blue eyes scanned over Wilson's face, as if searching for something, and Wilson could only endure it. The only lingering thought that rang through his mind was, '_What is he looking for?_'

_"Mmm bop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du…"_

House blinked and Wilson's mind resurfaced and he gasped, as if _he_ had been submerged underwater. They both looked to where House's coat had fallen to the floor, from which the tones of Hanson were drifting. House bent forward, his joints cracking, and grunted as he lifted the jacket off the ground. He dug the still-singing cell phone out and shook it in Wilson's direction before rolling his eyes.

"It's the kids," he grumbled. "They never let me do _anything_."

With that, he flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear. "You couldn't wait for me to get to the office?"

_"House,"_ Kutner's voice on the other side of the line sounded utterly relieved. Then it became indignant. _"We've been paging you all night!"_

House ran a hand over his face, trying to ignore both the pain from his encroaching headache from his lack of sleep and the throbbing in his leg from, as Wilson had said, sleeping on the Couch of Mourning. "What can I say? She was a _really_ good hooker."

He shot Wilson a glance, and the other man looked worriedly at his couch for a moment before rolling his eyes and pushing himself to his feet. Kutner merely snorted in disbelief.

_"Yeah, I'm sure,"_ he grumbled. _"Anyway, are you almost here?"_

House rose to his feet, grimacing, and threw his jacket over his shoulder. "I want you to close your eyes for sixty seconds. Tell your fellow Knights of the Round to do it, too."

_"…_What_?"_

"Just do it," House snapped into his phone before clicking it shut. He then grabbed his own crutch from where he had leaned it against the other side of the couch and settled it under his arm. Wilson, who had taken a seat at his desk, peered up at him.

"What sort of return fire are you planning?" Wilson asked, amusement coloring his words. "Should I avoid a certain hallway, or not take any rides from Cuddy?"

House shrugged, popping a Vicodin into his mouth. "I'll have to think on it," he said as he limped towards the office door. "But you'll probably be a part of it somehow."

Wilson smirked, turning back to his files. "Was there any doubt?" he asked.

House grinned and pushed open the door. He limped down the hall and, through the glass walls and between the blinds, spied Taub leaning against the bookcase. Taub, in return, spotted him and rolled his eyes before calling to Kutner, who was sitting at the table. House pushed open the door to the conference room just as Kutner's eyes jolted open. Taub planted his hands on his hips—a very Wilson-esque move, and briefly House wondered if _all_ Jewish doctors did that to express disappointment—before glowering at House.

"Where _were_ you?!" he snapped.

House scowled at him as he limped by. "You're not my mother," he snapped back, heading to the already-made coffee. He turned back around, pouring coffee into his red cup. He then scanned the room again, frowning. "Where is the other half to our politically correct rainbow?"

Taub frowned. "Not here," he grumbled. "Neither of them showed up for work yet, and no one's notified us of either of them calling in sick."

House waved him off. "If they had, no one _would_," he replied grumpily.

Kutner blinked several times before he squinted at House. He tilted his head to the side, fighting off a smile. "Are you…" he began, "are you wearing the same clothes you were yesterday?"

House stared at Kutner. He rolled his eyes and quickly swallowed a mouthful of coffee to spurn on his awareness level. Kutner's smile broke through and he brightened immediately.

"You _are_!" he chirped, leaning forward. "Now I _know_ you were lying about that hooker!"

Taub looked between House and Kutner before turning his gaze to the ceiling. House merely glowered in response to Kutner's discovery. "Did you honestly think I was telling you the truth?"

"No," Kutner replied, "but I was wondering why you wouldn't hear your pager or your cell phone." He smiled smugly and seemed to bounce in his seat. "Did you _spend the night_ at someone's house?"

Taub smacked a hand to his forehead. "Oh for the love of God, are you a thirteen year old _girl_?!" he cried before turning to face House. "The patient experienced spinal shocks before we even turned on the machine."

Kutner huffed before slipping further into his seat and glaring. After slamming down his coffee cup, House turned to Taub and raised his eyebrows. "So we have a new symptom!" he said, and limped around the bookshelves where the white dry-erase board was stashed. He grabbed one corner and wheeled it to face the table. Taub took a seat closest to the board and waited. Across its white surface were black words, cataloging the various symptoms Dana Miller had exhibited while in their care. House paused in front of it for a moment before reaching down to grab a marker.

His fingers scraped against only metal.

He froze, staring at the whiteboard a mere inch from his face, and exhaled. He turned around, glaring at the two remaining fellows. Kutner quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed Taub's shirt across the table. "MRI!" he yelped. "We'll MRI her for… a… spinal tumor!"

Taub took one look at House's face before turning back to Kutner. "A spinal hemangioma, actually," he muttered as he walked around the table.

"Right!" Kutner said, walking backwards towards the exit.

House pointed at him before he could pass through the threshold. "_You_ will meet me here before noon. Got it?"

Kutner nodded, swallowing, before he and Taub fled through the doors and towards the elevators. House turned back to his whiteboard and stared at where his markers used to lie. His eyes narrowed before he turned around and left the conference room, too. On his way, he pounded on Wilson's office door and yelled through the wood.

"Twelve-fifteen! The clinic! Meet me there _or I will find you_."

House didn't wait for a response before moving to the elevators. He had two fellows to find, and he had an idea where he'd find at least one of them.

XXXX

When no one answered the door—or, rather, came to see who was opening the door with a set of keys that weren't supposed to exist—House assumed it was because there was no one home and was going to wait inside until either Thirteen and/or Foreman showed up. Thus, he was intrigued to spot Thirteen sitting in a chair at the back of her living room. Her eyes were glued to the floor in what House could only assume was guilt. Which was odd.

"Nice place you have," House said as he circled the back of the room, looking around. He paused by a row of picture frames lining a windowsill and knocked one of them onto their face, not even pausing to look at the picture. He turned back to where Thirteen sat and saw her glaring into space, jaw set.

Very odd.

"What picture did I just knock over?" House asked, limping towards Thirteen. She closed her eyes and turned away, swallowing.

"Get out," she said, voice quivering. "And leave your key."

Diagnosis.

"You can't see, can you?" House asked, pausing a few paces from her. When she said nothing more, House looked around, knowing that Foreman would have been there. That meant… "Where's Foreman?"

"He went to the drug company," Thirteen said, her eyes flicking towards House. "He thought… maybe…"

"He thought they had a cure for cancer?" House said, snatching up the phone from its base. He limped back to Thirteen. "I'll call Wilson _after_ you call and bring your idiotic boyfriend back here."

Thirteen glared at him, eyes narrow and too left of his face. House rolled his eyes and dropped the crutch to the floor. "He actually came to _me_ for advice before he plugged you into the good stuff," he said as he carefully lowered himself onto a footstool. Thirteen's eyes darted to his new position, wide. House smirked at her. "I told him he would have to be an idiot if he switched you."

Thirteen smiled bitterly, rolling her eyes to the side. "No wonder he switched me," she grumbled, "if you said not to."

House snorted. "I also told him that he should do it… if he loved you."

Thirteen froze, her mouth dropping open. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "We-we've only been dating for two weeks," she stuttered, opening her eyes to stare in House's direction. "You don't… can't fall in love with someone in two weeks."

"Sure you can," House said swiftly, leaning back. "You can fall out of love just as fast. Foreman, however, decided to risk that he'd love you forever, and that you'd love him forever." House refrained from adding on, '_however long your forever is going to actually last._' Barely. He shook the phone in the air. "And if _you_ are willing to bet on the same forever as him, then I'd call him back before he does something incredibly stupid for nothing."

Thirteen closed her eyes again, tilting her head towards the floor. She then held her hand out to him. House smirked and quickly dialed Foreman's cell phone before placing it in her hand. She held the phone to her ear, taking in a swift and shaky breath. "Eric?" she said softly. "Eric, turn around. Come back." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "No, no it won't. I need _radiation_, not good will and… and sacrifice." She held still for a moment, listening. She then frowned. "Who cares if House is here? So, what? You're the only one who can listen to his advice? Just… come back." She paused, and then let out a sigh, a small smile twitching across her lips. "Thank you, Eric. Just… thank you."

She held the phone back out to House who quickly turned it off and tossed it onto the couch. He reached down to grab his crutch when Thirteen's hand darted out, snatching the fabric of his arm. He blinked down at it and then up at Thirteen. Her eyes gazed at him, dead but somehow firm. They were focused so closely on House's face that, for a moment, he wondered if she really was blind.

She held tight to his sleeve, eyes narrowing. "You can't…" she began, slowly, cautiously, as if wandering over a minefield. "Not everyone… leaves."

House stilled, closing his eyes. It passed a moment later and he tugged his arm out of her grasp. "Thank you for such an inspiring statement," he grumped, grabbing the crutch and using it to climb to his feet. "The next time we have group therapy, we should open with that."

Thirteen's smile lingered on her face, however, and House made sure to knock over another picture frame on the way out.

XXXX

Wilson lingered nervously in the clinic, only steps from the front desk. He sighed, glaring at his watch, which stubbornly told him it was twelve-ten. House wouldn't show up until the last minute, even if _House_ was the one to set the time and date. That was life.

Wilson was startled out of his thoughts when Cuddy trotted by him and to the clinic desk. Without a second thought, Wilson limped beside her and leaned against the counter. Cuddy turned slightly to stare at him over her shoulder, but otherwise did nothing more. Wilson picked up a file and flipped it open before peering at her over the top of it.

"I didn't know House bought you a ring," he said, eyes narrowed. Cuddy's eyes widened a fraction before she turned completely to face him.

"So he spent the night at your place?" Cuddy asked, planting a hand on her hip and holding a patient file in the other.

Wilson stilled before clearing his throat. "No, actually," he said, raising an eyebrow. "He slept in my office." He paused, setting the file down. "On my _couch_."

Cuddy stared at him, brows furrowed. "That stiff ugly thing?"

"It's not ugly," Wilson said, frowning. Then he shook his head and leaned forward, shifting his crutch. "That's not the point." He ran a hand over his face. "Why are you doing this to him?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and turned from him, striding towards one of the clinic rooms. "I don't have time for this."

"Oh?" Wilson said, quickly limping after her. "But you have time to set tripwires, steal canes, and commit fraud?" Cuddy stopped in the hallways and glowered at him over her shoulder. Wilson smiled pleasantly. "I wonder how you have any time for your job."

Cuddy's face flushed and her eyes narrowed into a swift glare. "House needs to know that he can't just be an asshole to anyone he wants to without repercussions."

Wilson gaped at her for several moments. "'Without repercussions'?" he said, amused disbelief coloring his words. He smiled and laughed a little, holding up his free hand. "House is an asshole because, no matter how he behaves, something bad _always_ happens to him. That's the House _you_ hired."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "That's still no excuse—"

"He offers no excuse!" Wilson exclaimed, drawing eyes from those around him. Wilson ignored them and shuffled closer to Cuddy. "When you hired him, you _knew_ that he was an ass. That he wasn't politically correct, or humble, or kind. He was just as he is now—a nightmare to anyone close enough to get in his way." He gestured swiftly to the side, almost knocking a stack of files over. Wilson glanced at it before turning back to Cuddy. "Just because you realize it, or just because it's suddenly an inconvenience to you, doesn't give you the right to punish him like this!" Wilson dropped his hand to his side. He glared at her and he whispered, "You're _hurting him_."

She stared back at him, eyes widened. Then she clutched the file to her chest and nodded jerkily. "Nice having this talk with you, Doctor Wilson," she said stiffly, and turned on her heel before disappearing behind one of the many clinic doors.

"Oh, how you defend my virtue."

Wilson jumped and nearly dropped his crutch. He craned his neck around to spy House walking towards him from the elevators, smirking. He still leaned heavily against the crutch Wilson had given him yesterday. An eager-looking Kutner trailed behind him. Wilson turned around and met them halfway. Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging.

"I need my couch back," Wilson said. "You got crumbs all over it last night. And what will your hookers think if you don't call them?"

Kutner's face took on a disappointed look, which confused Wilson. However, House spoke, drawing Wilson's attention back to him.

"Wilson," House began, "you and I are going to be distractions."

Wilson stared at House. "_We_ are the distractions?" he said, startled. He had thought House would rather be front-and-center in his revenge schemes.

House waved his free hand through the air. "It's a long and complicated plot," he grumbled. He turned to Kutner and frowned at him. "Is there a reason you're standing here? Shoo!"

As House waved his hands at him, Kutner smiled at Wilson. "I'm going to be discrete," he said. "No one will ever know it was me." Before Wilson could say anything, Kutner jammed his hands into his lab coat and ambled away from them. It took Wilson a moment to realize that Kutner was heading towards Cuddy's office.

"House," Wilson began, turning to face him, "you do remember that Kutner lit a patient on fire, electrocuted himself, and almost blew up a house, right?"

House shrugged. "He's dedicated," he explained, waving his hand. "Not important." House then limped towards the clinic exit and the front lobby. Wilson sighed, and took up stride beside him.

"What's your plan then?" Wilson asked softly, glancing at House.

House's smile took on a sinister gleam, and he stopped in the middle of the lobby, between the exit and the front desk. Wilson paused, glancing around nervously. He turned back around and took a half-step back, shocked; House's eyes were narrow, cold, enraged.

"I don't need you to defend me from her!" House snarled, slamming the end of his crutch to the floor. He limped forward, stopping only inches from Wilson's face. "This is _my fight_! I don't need a damn knight in shining armor to save me!" he shouted.

Wilson's mind blanked for a single instant before he caught on. His lips twitched upwards before he forced them into a frown. His free hand immediately planted on his hip and he leaned forward, almost nose-to-nose with House. "Forgive me for caring!" he snapped back. "I forgot that your massive ego is easily punctured by _concern_."

Wilson could tell the two of them were drawing quite a crowd, as the entire room had gone quiet except for House's rapid breathing and his own breaths between clenched teeth. House's free hand swung outward, gesturing violently beside them, not that Wilson could see much besides House's too-blue eyes.

"What's motivating you to get in my business is not _concern_," House scoffed. "It's guilt."

"Guilt?!" Wilson shouted, his own arm flying outwards. Suddenly, the entire situation felt less like an act and more like an actual fight. "What do I have to be guilty about?!"

House sneered at him. "Is Cuddy the only one who knew I was an ass going in?" House drawled, "Or did _you_ only realize this yourself a few months ago?"

Wilson's mind shut down, and his body reeled back as if he had been struck. It felt like it, as though House had punched through his chest, tore out his heart, and was crushing it with his hands. Wilson's mouth sagged open and his guts felt like they were trying to crawl up his throat to escape. House leaned back, coolly watching him, observing him. After a moment, Wilson managed to choke out, "House…"

"_What_ is going on over here?!"

Wilson flinched and turned towards the sound. He watched as Cuddy marched over towards them, pulling off a set of gloves as she came closer. House turned towards her, scowling.

"We're kind of in the middle of something," House grumbled. Wilson wondered if House had forgotten this was supposed to be a ploy, or if the man was just that good at acting.

Cuddy's arms crossed and she raised an eyebrow. "We _all_ noticed," she said, leaning backwards. "Care to explain why you're disturbing the whole hospital?"

House rolled his eyes. "Let me and Jimmy duke it out a few rounds. It'll be fine. Now that you've evened the handicap, it'll be a fair fight."

Wilson looked at House, frowning. "You wouldn't dream of fighting fair."

"True," House said, smirking, "but if no one catches you, it's not cheating."

It was Cuddy's turn to roll _her_ eyes. "I meant," she began in a louder tone, "why aren't you arguing in your own offices instead of down here?"

House looked around before leaning forward. He brought up a hand to whisper behind. "We don't like to fight in front of the kids," he admitted. "Taub starts to cry and Thirteen goes to her room and just doesn't come out for _hours_." He dropped his hand and looked pointedly at Cuddy. "Do you want to be responsible for that kind of emotional hurt?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, throwing her hands into the air. "_Fine_, my fault for asking," she sighed. She then planted her hands on her hips. "So what _is_ going on?"

Wilson shrugged, glancing at House. "Does it really surprise you that House and I fight?" he asked.

Cuddy frowned. "Out here? In the hospital? Yes," she said.

House smiled. "My dirty laundry _must_ be aired."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "You don't even do your own laundry," he mumbled before turning his attention once more on Cuddy. "We're sorry for disrupting the peace, but it isn't anything… major."

House grinned, eyebrows shooting upwards. "If it was, we would have begun to duel with the crutches." Wilson and Cuddy stared blankly at him, and House hefted his up. "I can demonstrate if you don't believe me…"

Cuddy turned back to Wilson, and he smiled gently. "It's fine. Really," he said.

Cuddy grumbled something under her breath before she strode away and towards her office, bypassing the clinic desk completely. House shot a glance to the wall-mounted clock and smirked. "I love it when a plan comes together," he said under his breath before limping towards the elevators. Wilson, having nothing better to do, followed after.

"House," he said as the two of them boarded a vacant elevator, "what was that all about?"

House looked at him as he pressed the button for their floor. "It was a distraction," he said. He grinned quickly. "Kutner went into Cuddy's office and stole her car keys. As we speak, he is moving her car into a handicapped parking zone."

Wilson gaped at him. "You had your fellow commit grand theft?" he asked. "That's supposed to be complicated? … Kutner went along with it?!"

House smirked as the elevator doors slid open. "And you wondered why I chose Kutner." He limped out, Wilson still at his side.

"That… wasn't what I was talking about," Wilson finally said, pausing beside his office door. House groaned loudly, his head lolling back.

"Wilson, it was a distraction," House said, eyeing him. "It was the perfect set up after your little outburst with Cuddy in the clinic." At Wilson's furrowed brows, House waved him off. "I know you aren't actually guilty about it, and I actually don't care. So don't worry your pretty little head over it, honey, or you'll get those awful wrinkles."

Wilson's mouth dropped open, shocked. Before he could say anything, however, House's pager went off. They both glanced at House's waistline, although House tilted the pager so that only he could read the message. He stood up straight and began to limp back down the hallway, leaving Wilson gaping behind him.

"Wh-where are you going?" Wilson called, standing still. House glanced over his shoulder and sneered.

"Got stuff to do!" House called back.

Wilson scowled. "This conversation isn't over!"

House merely grinned at him as he entered the elevator and allowed the doors to close.

XXXX

Hours passed after House disappeared before he burst into Wilson's office, holding a folder of MRI scans in his hand. Wilson looked up from his paperwork and watched as House, without preamble, limped over to the white screen at the other end of the room and jammed a few scans in there, flicking on the light. Wilson, sighing, rose to his feet, grabbing his crutch, and gimped to join him. As Wilson came alongside House to look at the black and white images, House reached out and tapped the large, white blobs that were scattered throughout the person's body.

"This just goes to show," House said, drawing his hand back and keeping his eyes upon the slides, "that you can never quit cancer."

Wilson glanced at him before looking back at the screen, squinting. "Are these Dana Miller's?" He didn't wait for House to answer. Instead, Wilson leaned forward and ran a finger over the image. "Are you thinking mesothelioma?"

House shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "We took scans two days ago, and none of these were there."

Wilson frowned. "Mesothelioma doesn't grow that fast," he muttered. He raised an eyebrow at House. "Do you want me to do a biopsy?"

House nodded. He pulled one of the scans down and shoved another into place. "This one, above her right breast, is close to the surface."

"Looks good," Wilson said, pulling the scans from the white screen. He flicked off the light and turned to House. "Do you want me to go and do that now…?"

"Now would be good," House said, thrusting the rest of MRI scans into Wilson's arms, nearly knocking him off balance. He looked at the clock in Wilson's room before he moved towards the door. "Sorry to drop and run, but—"

"We have a conversation to finish, House."

House frowned and paused, glancing over his shoulder. Wilson smirked at him, holding the large folder in front of him. House sighed and leaned heavily on his crutch. "While we waste time," House began, looking earnest, "Miss Miller could be dying. Don't you even _care_?"

Wilson shrugged at him and limped to his desk. "If she does have mesothelioma, she's dead anyway," he said, placing the folder on top of his other files, "and if she doesn't, the lab results won't come in until after you get to work tomorrow." Wilson raised an eyebrow at House. "Ten minutes isn't going to make much difference."

House frowned, brows furrowing, and then exhaled. "Fine," he grumbled. "What can't wait until after the biopsy?"

Wilson dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment before he brought himself to look at House again. "Why did you sleep in my office last night?" he asked. "Why didn't you call me to stay at my apartment?"

House rolled his eyes and sighed in disgust. He glowered at Wilson. "Are you honestly asking me that?" At Wilson's firm stare, House sighed and gestured lamely with is free hand. "Yesterday, after your little visit with my patient, you spent the rest of the day avoiding me," he said. "And the last time I tried to stay at your place, you weren't exactly fond of the idea." House shrugged. "I figured I'd go with the best bet the first time around."

Wilson winced, gritting his teeth. "Oh," he mumbled, slouching. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at House through his meager bangs. "I kicked you out because you were rationalizing your infatuation with Cuddy," he offered, lifting his head some. "And I've been avoiding you… because…"

He paused, brows furrowed again. House tapped his crutch as he stood by, glancing at the clock again. "Wilson, if you're going to have a huge emotional reveal, could you do it quick? I'm on a schedule."

"Oh, right," Wilson said, throwing House a look with disbelief written all over it. "The only schedule you 'keep' is _my_ schedule." Then Wilson exhaled and nodded to himself. He turned to face House completely, drawing himself up. "I've been avoiding you because my talks with your patient have made me realize what a selfish asshole I was to you."

House stilled for several moments, mouth slowly dropping open. "Excuse me?" he said at last.

Wilson smiled ruefully at him. "Is it so surprising to hear me admit that?" he asked. House opened his mouth and Wilson waved him off. "Don't say anything, I know the answer." Wilson ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "Miller… said some things that made me think about the choices I made in _my_ life," Wilson continued. "Choices I made to… further my own happiness, even if it hurts other people. If it hurt you."

House dropped his gaze to the ground and shifted in obvious discomfort. Wilson barreled ahead, however. "I never even thanked you after you did the deep brain stimulation," he said. He swallowed. "I never said how sorry I am that I even asked you to do it."

House shrugged, still not meeting Wilson's gaze. "Love makes people overlook the important things in their life," he said. "It makes people do stupid or insane things. Things they wouldn't do under any other circumstance." House's eyes rose to meet Wilson's. "I don't blame you for it. I don't need you to apologize."

"Well," Wilson said, smiling a little. "I do." He shuffled forward a few paces, close enough that he reached out and clutched House's shoulder. "I am so sorry for asking you to risk yourself for my happiness, that I chose myself over you," he said gently, earnestly. He squeezed House's shoulder tighter. "And thank you for trying _everything_ to save Amber." Wilson paused, inhaling a shaky breath and forcing himself to smile. His chest ached, just like before, just like when House had shouted in the lobby. He fought past it. "Thank you," he said, voice shaking, "for not dying."

House went utterly still, his eyes falling shut. Wilson watched as House's entire body stiffened under his touch before relaxing moments later. House's eyes then opened again, meeting Wilson's gaze firmly, unwavering. Wilson smiled at him, gently massaging House's shoulder under his hand. His chest felt better, normal, like he could breathe again—how badly had he needed to say that? Wilson paused, and wondered, guiltily, just how badly _House_ had needed to hear it. He wondered why he had waited so damn long to say it.

Finally, House shrugged Wilson's hand off. He stepped backwards and Wilson let him retreat, both physically and emotionally. House cleared his throat and scowled at Wilson, rolling his shoulders. "Are you done?" House asked, an eyebrow arching. "Because I'm going to need a Dramamine if this continues."

Wilson smiled at House, shaking his head. "I'm done," he said. He nudged House's crutch with his own, raising his eyebrows. "You know that Monster Truck special airing tomorrow?"

House frowned at Wilson, confusion darting across his face. "Uh, yeah?"

Wilson grinned. "My couch is free, the beer is free, and the Chinese is free if you want to come over and watch it with me."

House smiled in an instant. "Well, with an offer like that," he began, raising his eyebrows, "how can I refuse?"

Wilson grinned. "Great," he said. He then brushed past House. "I'm off to do your biopsy," he called over his shoulder, watching as House limped out of his office and paused by his door. Wilson raised a hand to him. "Hope you aren't too late for your important appointment!"

He could see House's eyes roll and the other man turned and limped down the opposite way, towards his own office. Wilson then turned to face the elevators, smiling fondly. As he rode the elevators down to the second floor, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A weight he had barely been aware he'd been carrying. It felt… good.

He limped out of the elevator the moment it opened, starting towards the nurse's station. There was equipment to set up and a patient to inform. More than that, Wilson had an apology to deliver.

Again.

XXXX

As a serial flirt, it was easy for Wilson to get the nurses to quickly organize all he needed to perform a biopsy on Dana Miller. Flash a smile, chuckle nervously, shrug just a little, and drop House's name as quickly and efficiently as he could into every conversation—that was the key to his skills. Of course, his injured leg was another great prop to use. Twenty minutes after Wilson had left House, the room was all set for Wilson to go to work.

People were easy. Apologies were not.

Wilson lingered just before the doors, clenching and unclenching his hand over the handle before he finally pushed his way inside. He limped, carefully and without his crutch, to where Dana Miller was lying under a bright light. Two side tables and a small stool were next to the operating table. He sat down on the stool, glad to take his weight off his throbbing ankle. He gave Dana a weak smile as he turned to his side tables and picked up a pair of gloves and pulled them on.

"Isn't it a bit odd," Dana said, drawing Wilson's eyes to her, "for a department head to be doing a biopsy?"

Wilson smiled, leaning his head to the side a bit. "House and I have… a partnership, if you'd call it that," he offered. He turned back to the tray and automatically began to go through the steps. He picked up the povidone-iodine solution and began to swab the site of injection to disinfect the area just above Dana's right breast. "I bring House cases that are interesting, and even if they aren't up to his usual standard, he'll take them." Wilson set the used swab onto the side table and took up the bottle of local anesthetic and the small syringe. "And when he needs something done about cancer, I'm the one he goes to."

As he filled the needle with the transparent liquid, Dana lifted her eyes and smiled softly at him. "Just a partnership?"

Wilson laughed, checking the level of medication within the syringe. "House would call it a partnership, just to make it look like he doesn't care," he said, tapping the side of the syringe and pushing on the plunger. Two droplets of liquid squeezed out the end. He smiled at Dana. "But… we're friends. Best friends," he affirmed.

Dana smile softened and she nodded. Wilson held the needle to her chest. "There'll be a slight pinch," he said, and pressed the needle into her skin. After pushing in the anesthetic, Wilson removed the needle and set it onto the tray beside him. He then froze, looking down at his hands before he turned on his chair to face Dana again. He had time to kill while waiting for the medication to take effect. He had time to talk.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said, looking at her. "I'm sorry for… saying those things to you."

"No you're not."

Wilson blinked, startled. Dana shook her head gently. "You're a good person, Doctor Wilson," she explained. "You just want me to die, knowing that there are no hard feelings between us. Honestly, I appreciate it but—"

"What?!" Wilson said, startled. Dana frowned at him, and Wilson shook his head. "No, I'm apologizing because… you were right." He smiled helplessly, settling back on his stool. "Everything I said to you… I should have asked myself. I should have told myself." He blinked quickly. "My girlfriend died a half a year ago—an accident, nothing anyone could do—but before, I asked House, my _best friend_, to risk his life to figure out what was wrong with her." Wilson shook his head. "He did it, and… I almost lost him." He smiled, but there was no happiness in his eyes. There was only raw hurt. "I never thanked him for it. Never apologized for making him risk everything for my happiness, and he never asked me to."

Dana watched him for several moments, looking over his face. It was very much like House, Wilson realized, but softer, gentler. Then she folded her mitted hands on her stomach. "If he wanted to do it," Dana began, "then there would be no reason to apologize. A police man demands no gratitude for saving a person's life. Neither does a doctor."

Wilson shook his head at her. "But I chose _her_ over him. My own happiness, my own joy, _myself_ over him. How could someone like House be alright with that?" he pleaded.

Dana didn't even hesitate before answering, "Because he was glad if you were happy. He was willing to die for your joy. He was happier putting you before himself."

"That doesn't sound like House," Wilson whispered, hoarsely. "He'd never put his mind on the line… it's too important to him."

Dana shrugged again. "People are willing to put aside the things most important to them for people they care greatly for. People can do… insane or stupid things."

Wilson sighed, shaking his head. "Is the area numb?" he asked, stepping away from the conversation. He gently poked the area with his hand.

Dana Miller nodded. "It is," she said. As Wilson turned to grab his biopsy needle, she spoke once again, "The last time you were in here, I asked if you had someone to live for."

Wilson swallowed, nodding. "You did," he said, turning towards her, needle in hand.

Dana smiled brightly at him. "I think you do," she offered. "I think that you've been doing it for so long, you've just forgotten that fact." Wilson stared, bug-eyed, at her. Dana's smile widened, eyes brightening. "You can't run from me now, Doctor Wilson," she said.

Wilson's hands shook slightly, so he set the needle down on the tray and stared at the woman before him, mouth opened slightly. "You think…?" he said breathlessly. He shook his head quickly, eyes snapping shut. "I… It doesn't… I'm not…" He winced heavily. "Oh God."

Dana laughed softly. "This isn't really a new revelation, is it?"

Wilson stared at her, eyes wide. "It… was a joke."

"A joke?"

Wilson nodded, hesitantly. "My… Amber was a lot like House. Personality-wise. When he found out… he said something to the effect that I was sleeping with him. So I told him that he and I were a couple by definition, and that dating him wouldn't be a poor choice."

One of Dana's eyebrows rose. "And you found nothing off about dating a woman who acted like your male best friend?"

Wilson shrugged. "She… was what I needed," he said after a moment.

Dana met his gaze evenly. "But she wasn't what you wanted."

Wilson closed his eyes, cutting himself off from her penetrating gaze. If she didn't see it, it wasn't real. If he didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't there. If no one said it, then there was nothing to say. His mouth, however, betrayed him.

"You don't always get what you want."

He opened his eyes to look at her, finally, feeling completely and utterly numb. Dana nodded at him, smiling. "If you don't try to get it, you don't," she said. "If you only settle for what you have, for what's easy or what others think is right, then you'll never be happy."

Wilson watched her for a moment, eyes darting across her face. "What… do I do?"

Dana reached over and set a mitted hand onto Wilson's knee. Wilson looked down at it before returning to her face. She squeezed his knee and said, "The only wrong thing is to do _nothing_."

Wilson kept her gaze for several moments before nodding, looking away. "I think… I understand."

Dana nodded at him. "Good."

Wilson smiled at her, a small, sad smile, and Dana moved her hand back to her stomach. Wilson took a deep breath and picked up the biopsy needle once again, hands still and calm. He pressed the needle to the spot on her chest and looked up at Dana again. "Here we go," he muttered, and began to press down.

Wilson could immediately tell something was off. The pressure, texture, the feel of it was completely wrong. And then the blood began to ooze up, in a greater amount than there should have been. He stopped, staring at it.

"That's… not right," Dana said, sounding resigned, but calm. Wilson envied her for that.

Wilson quickly pulled the needle out and grabbed some sterile gauze. He pressed it, firmly, against her chest. "At least," he said, pressing down on the bleed, "we know you don't have mesothelioma."

Wilson didn't feel so relieved.


	4. R: Rejoice

**Title**: R.I.C.E. in Reverse [4/4]  
**Author**: **Phate_Phoenix**  
**Prompt **: 9. House/Wilson – "When everything is wrong, I'll come talk to you" (My Best Friend - Weezer)  
**Pairing**: Canon House/Cuddy, House/Wilson  
**Rating/Warning**: PG-13; Swearing, Spoilers for 'THE GREATER GOOD', Vengeful!House, Hurt!Wilson  
**Summary**: An AU of 'The Greater Good' caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson fhad discovered that Dana Miller was House's patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won't know what hit her.  
**Beta**: **Cielo_Claro** at LiveJournal.  
**Disclaimer**: DO NOT OWN.  
**Notes**: Written for the **House_Of_Fanfic** (of LiveJournal) Annual Contest.

XXXX

**R: Rejoice**  
_To celebrate; To fill with joy_

House sat in his office, rolling the large red and grey ball between his hands. He stared out his window, propping his leg onto the lower shelf of his bookcase. His mind, however, was hours behind, contemplating the next in a long line of strange Wilson-behavior.

Namely, _calling_ about Dana Miller's biopsy.

House and Taub—the only member left from the original team—had been waiting in the conference room for Wilson to page them about how the biopsy went when the phone began to ring. House, being closest to the phone, had made Taub pick it up.

Once it was established that Wilson was on the other line, House had taken the phone.

"That's funny," House had said into the mouth piece, "all doctors have these… little funny things given to us, so that we can quickly meet one another. I wish I could remember what they were called…"

_"I'm sorry. I just… I'm heading back to my apartment. "_

House had felt the similar coil of annoyance and, irritatingly, hurt in his stomach. "Every time you talk to that woman, you can't stand to be around me anymore. Are you cheating on me with her?"

Wilson's laugh had been pathetically weak. _"No… it's not that. It's not… really you. It's me. "_

"Oh God. You _are_ breaking up with me."

_"No! No, just… Listen, I couldn't do the biopsy. "_

"What? Why not? Your needle too big and hard for her?"

_"Oh shut up. The area began to bleed too much. Mesothelioma doesn't bleed. "_

"Then what does?"

_"That's your job, isn't it? "_ Wilson had sighed. _"Look, I'll be better tomorrow. I just… I have to figure out how to do…"_

"Do what?"

_"Do… _something_, House. I have to figure out how to do something."_

And then Wilson had hung up. Not four minutes later, Dana Miller began to bleed from every orifice. The rest of the night was spent in a frantic rush for his two still-functioning fellows to save her before she bled out. It was long after midnight that Dana was stabilized, which meant House had spent another night in a rather restless sleep, granted it was in his own bed this time, and he was able to change his clothes and shower.

"House."

House rolled his head around to get a better look as Taub strode into the room, scowling. Kutner slouched in behind him, hands deep in his pockets. They stopped in front of House's desk, staring down at him while House twisted back around in his chair to face them. Taub held up the blue folder that House immediately recognized as his patient's.

"We have an update on Miller," Taub said, placing his empty hand on the desk. He glowered at House's single raised eyebrow. Then he smirked. "Personally, I think we should discuss what we should do about her," Taub began, and shrugged his shoulders as he continued to say, "unless you want to mope about how your boyfriend is spending all his free time with another woman?"

House scowled at him before slowly pushing himself to his feet. "I'm not _moping_," he growled, snatching the file out of Taub's hand and grabbing his crutch from its spot against the wall.

Kutner's eyebrows shot upwards immediately. "You didn't deny that Wilson was your boyfriend," he pointed out as House limped around him and Taub.

House stared at Kutner over his shoulder as he left his office, the fellows a few steps behind. "I also didn't say I wasn't a woman. Do you want me to drop my pants so that you can confirm?"

Kutner winced and Taub rolled his eyes at his friend. Then he strode up beside House and peaked at the current page in the folder. "We're lucky that Miller didn't drown in her own blood," Taub said. "We had to install drainage hoses through her stomach so that the blood wouldn't build up like that again."

Kutner nodded, striding up along House's other side. "We're barely keeping up with how much blood she's losing. We actually had to air-lift more blood from surrounding hospitals, or else we'd run out in a day or two." House glanced at him as he handed over the file. Kutner shrugged and thumbed through the pages. "It's a good thing she's type AB, or we'd be in real trouble."

As the group rounded a corner, Taub said, "We have to stop those tumors from bleeding, or she may not last long enough to run out of blood."

House scowled, picking up his pace. "What we have to do is go on the offensive," he declared, earning two confused looks. House smiled cheerfully. "In order to make the tumors stop vomiting blood, we stop feeding the tumors blood."

Taub frowned at House. "Embolization?"

House nodded and stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Start at her lungs," he said, ignoring Kutner's wide-eyed stare, "because otherwise she won't be able to talk Wilson into ignoring me anymore."

Kutner shook his head. "That could kill off a lot of healthy lung tissue," he argued.

"But not doing it," House said, glaring, "could kill the patient."

Taub and Kutner glanced at one another before heading towards the elevators. House watched them until the doors shut, and then he continued forward, planning on looping back towards his office. The walking, and the pain, helped him think, helped him focus. It helped him work.

As House made the final turn on his leg back to his office, a flutter of white to his right caught his eye. He paused, turning towards the color and spied a frazzled-looking Cuddy, sitting on a bench. In her hands was House's cane, and tied to its end was a white handkerchief.

A white flag.

She looked up at him when he stopped a few paces from her, and she smiled weakly, waving the cane back and forth. "I've come to surrender," she declared, and held the cane out to House.

"I see my final assault got through to you," House said smugly as he limped towards her.

Cuddy rose to her feet as House drew nearer, sighing and shaking her head. "Moving my car and getting me a three-hundred dollar ticket was bad enough, House," Cuddy said, shaking his cane at him. "Did you really have to hack my computer to replace Rachel's live feed with a continuous loop of _lesbian porn_?" She glared at him, but the corners of her lips were twitching upwards. "I had to tell the technician that it was a virus. I don't think he believed me."

House reached out and grabbed hold of his cane, feeling the familiar wood beneath his hands. "You stole my markers," he said, glaring. "No one touches my markers, unless I say so."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows and released the cane into House's grip. "Duly noted," she said. Then she paused, frowning at him. "I won't apologize."

House stared at her, brows furrowed, and leaned the cane against the bench. "I'd think less of you if you did." He frowned then, honest bewilderment darting through his eyes. "All I want to know is why you decided now was a good time to punish me for being me."

Cuddy sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing a hand against the side of her face. "I guess…" she began, slowly, opening her eyes and meeting House's gaze, "I guess I was hurt."

House blanked for several long moments. "For what?" he asked. "I don't remember being any greater a jerk than usual to you."

Cuddy grimaced and turned away. "For… not changing. For not becoming who I wanted you to be the moment Rachel came into my life." She looked over at House, eyes soft, sad. "I guess I hoped that… maybe you'd be more accommodating. Maybe even happy for me. Everyone else in the hospital is. I guess I thought… maybe…"

House stared at her. "You thought that baby vomit would turn me from a frog into a prince?"

Cuddy smiled awkwardly, folding her hands in front of her. "Yes, I suppose I did. And when that fairytale didn't come true…" She shrugged, tilting her head to the side briefly. "It hurt."

For a moment, House stood still in the empty hallway, just staring, comprehending. Then he took another step forward, entering her space. Cuddy turned towards him once more, lifting her head slightly. Mere inches apart, they were breathing each other's air.

"This is me," House said at last, "this is all you're going to get. This isn't a two-for-one deal—I'm prepackaged, not for individual sale. You take the genius with the jackass. You can't have one or the other. It's all or nothing." House leaned forward, lips brushing against Cuddy's. "So take it or leave it."

Cuddy's hands lifted upwards, wrapping around House's neck, and pressed her lips against his. House brought up his one free hand, burying it into her hair, and quickly deepened the kiss. Briefly, quickly, their tongues touched before Cuddy's retreated back into her mouth. Her hands slid from around his neck, down his chest, and paused at House's hips. And that was when House knew.

This wasn't a romantic kiss. It wasn't an exploratory kiss. It wasn't a test, or a reminder, or a promise. It wasn't anything of the sort.

It was a _goodbye_.

Cuddy gently put pressure on House's hips, and he pulled back slowly. When he opened his eyes he found hers already open, so blue and soft and resigned. She smiled at him before stepping back, and House let his hand fall from her hair. She ran a hand over her mouth, dropping her gaze to the floor, and exhaled.

"One last time, House," she said gently, slowly meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry that this can't work."

House slowly nodded. "You'll get over me," he declared, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. "You've got your squishy pink thing at home." Then, he leered at her. "And _that_ was the best turn down I've ever had," he said, smirking.

Cuddy rolled her eyes and then leered back at him. "You practically threw yourself at me," she said, running a hand through her hair. "You can't expect me to just turn that away, can you?" She then paused, fingers stilling. She frowned slightly. "Are you…okay?" she asked, watching him.

House actually _was_ okay, because he'd been expecting this. He'd been waiting for the small _thing_ between Cuddy and himself to fall apart ever since Rachel had come into Cuddy's life. Because children changed everything—they changed lives and forced people to alter their plans. That was probably why House's father had never had (or wanted) any children before or after House. It was also probably why his mother had gotten pregnant in the first place. Children changed things. How things changed was always a crapshoot, though.

"I'm fine," House said, picking up his cane and inspecting it. Leaning heavily against the axillary support of his crutch, he peeled the white handkerchief from the end of it and held it out for Cuddy to take. "You, however, should hurry to the nearest bathroom and stock up on tampons." At Cuddy's blank stare, House smirked. "You've gone from weepy to horny to perky back to weepy; if it isn't your time of the month—"

House froze, eyes widening. Cuddy snatched the handkerchief from House and stuffed it into her front pocket. She then planted her hands onto her hips, raising an eyebrow. "Are you stuck? Do I need to smack you upside the head to get you going again?"

House's lips quirked into a grin, and he tapped the handle of his cane to his head in a mock salute. "I have a patient to save."

Cuddy shook her head as House darted past her, still using the crutch to move while he carried the cane in his other hand. Just as he was about to reach the elevator button, the doors opened and exposed Wilson standing on the other side, foot still wrapped and crutch still in use. House grinned wide.

"Well, would you look at that!" he chirped. Wilson winced, rubbing the back of his neck. He stepped out of the elevator, but pressed his free hand against the door, preventing them from closing.

"I need to talk to you," Wilson said, a faint blush on his face. He cleared his throat and adjusted his crutch unconsciously. "Now."

House smiled at him, wickedly. "Sorry, but I have to go save your mistress," he said cheerfully.

Wilson rolled his eyes, but he smiled anyway. "You sound like a jealous wife." Then he looked at House's hands, spying the cane in his grasp. "Cuddy returned it?"

House grinned. "The war is over, and I have won." He shifted the crutch out from under his arm and held it out to Wilson. "You now can have your set completed once again."

Wilson shifted, placing his good foot against the elevator door and took the crutch from House. "Thanks for taking such good care of it," he said. He glanced over his shoulder. "I'll wait for you in your office," he said at last, meeting House's gaze again. "Have fun." Wilson stepped back, and House watched as the elevator doors closed him off.

Once the elevator stopped at the second floor, House quickly made his way through the intensive care unit and to his patient's room. As soon as he walked through the doorway, he limped his way to the foot of his patient's bed, where he watched her with cool, scanning eyes. Dana Miller's tired, sleepy gaze scanned back, however. House smirked at her. "I can see why Wilson spent so much time with you."

Taub and Kutner, who had been prepping the embolization, stopped and watched their boss. Kutner's eyes dropped to House's hand. "Hey, you've got your cane back!" he said, smiling. He looked up to House's face, bouncing slightly on his heels. "Did we win?"

House raised an eyebrow at him before smirking back. "Victory is ours," he affirmed, and turned back to Dana. "Are you menstruating?"

Taub's hands jerked and he nearly dropped a needle. Kutner snickered, grinning. Dana merely nodded.

House beamed. "She's bleeding from her uterus!" he declared cheerfully. Taub sent Kutner a small smile before turning back to House.

"That happens to most women," Taub said slowly. "It's part of their natural cycle. When your health class gets to the section on puberty, you'll understand."

House sneered at him, tapping the floor with his cane impatiently. "What does menstruation have in common with what's happening to our patient?"

Kutner shot Taub a quick glance before saying, "Uh… there's a lot of blood?"

House rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not what I was going for, but close enough. She's _bleeding_ everywhere, and from her uterus. At the same time. The probability that something like this happens as a coincidence… not so great."

Taub and Kutner glanced between each other again. House sighed. "Ectopic endometriosis," he declared, and Taub closed his eyes, his head leaning back. House sneered. "Yeah, you better feel dumb," he said. He leaned against his cane, staring down at Dana. "When she had her surgery to remove her myoma," House began, "endometrial cells were spread throughout her body. They planted themselves like seeds in her spine, lungs, liver, and heart, where they began to sprout and grow. Once these areas were big enough, they began to act just like they would in her uterus. They began to swell, and they began to bleed."

Kutner's face contorted into disgust. "Oh, that is just gross."

House smirked at him. "The worst period _ever_."

Taub sighed, shaking his head. "So all we need to do is keep her stable long enough for her cycle to end so that the masses can be cut out."

House smirked, tapping his cane against the floor. "And you need to bring the woman some Midol."

As Taub and Kutner turned to the patient, smiles on their faces, House limped from the room and started back towards the elevators. He smirked as he boarded the half-full compartment, earning several nervous glances from the other doctors and nurses. Most of them got off on the third floor, and the rest stayed on as House left at the fourth. His post-puzzle high quickly ended, however, when he spied Wilson standing in his office, tossing House's red and grey ball between his hands. Both crutches were leaning against the glass desk. He slowed his walk, watching Wilson through the windows and blinds, trying to decipher why the other man was waiting, what he needed to talk about this time.

When House came up with nothing, he quickened his pace and burst through his office door, startling Wilson into dropping the ball. As Wilson turned his wide-eyed gaze upon House, the ball bounced and rolled to House's feet. Wilson laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. House merely kicked the ball to the other corner of his room and limped further inside. The door closed silently behind him.

"So, now what do you want to talk about?" House asked, raising both his eyebrows.

Wilson looked at where the ball had rolled before turning back to House. "Dana Miller and I… we've been talking a lot recently."

House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know," he grumbled. "Every time you do, you avoid me like I'm Typhoid Mary."

Wilson nodded, slowly. "I know," he said, "and I'm sorry about that." Wilson shook his head a little. "But that's the point," he said, sounding nervous. He ran a hand through his hair and swallowed. "She made me think about some things. Things I've… beaten back in order to make myself feel better."

House stared blankly at him. "Distancing yourself from things that _might_ make you miserable?" he droned, sarcasm dripping from his words. "That doesn't sound like you at _all_."

Wilson scowled, planting his hands on his hips and glared at him. "I know that," he snapped. "But I was scared."

"Of _what_?" House cried, throwing his hands briefly into the air.

Wilson looked out the window. "Of not getting what I wanted," he said.

House froze as Wilson inhaled, exhaled, and swallowed.

"And then…" Wilson began, somewhat breathlessly, "I was thinking… about what you said yesterday."

House frowned, brows quickly furrowing. Wilson, however, continued to speak. "You said… people who are in love do stupid things. They do things they'd never otherwise do. They overlook the things most important to them, all for another person."

House kept his gaze steadily on Wilson, but his hand clenched tighter around the handle of his cane. "That's what I said," he admitted slowly. Then he sneered. "Did you bring a tape recorder to our conversation or something?" He then thumped his cane against the floor. "Are we honestly going to have another heart-to-heart conversation?" he whined. "Because I just had one with Cuddy a little while ago, and I _really_ don't want to do it again."

Wilson clenched and unclenched his fists, staring at the floor. Then he looked back up, a small, nervous smile flitting across his lips. "No," he said, limping forward without his crutches. "No more talking. I promise."

House watched as Wilson entered _House's_ personal bubble. He stiffened, scanning Wilson's face for any clue, unsure of how to respond to such a violation. "What… what are you doing?" he asked, brows furrowing.

Wilson grinned, laughing softly. "I'm not… doing _nothing_," he said, locking his gaze with House's.

A thrill of excitement ran through House, starting from his stomach and shooting up his spine. He ignored it, however, and raised an eyebrow at him. "That really narrows it down," he said.

Wilson took another step forward, and House flashed back to less than an hour ago with Cuddy. To how similar they stood, inches from one another. He remembered how somber, how resigned the air had been. He remembered yesterday, the fake fight between himself and Wilson, how charged the air had felt then, and how similar to that it felt now. He could feel Wilson's breath against his throat, feel the warmth, feel how quickly he was taking those breaths. House's breathing sped up in response.

Wilson's smile twisted further, his eyes darker than House had ever seen them being before. "Then let me give you another hint," he murmured, and his hands clamped down around House's ears and yanked his face to Wilson's, noses nearly colliding.

House's eyes snapped shut the moment Wilson's lips crashed against his, feeling the release of a year's worth of unrequited affections in one single instant, all the way back in that stupid restaurant with that stupid blue drink and _"Oh my God, you're sleeping with _me_."_ It was sudden and overwhelming, like an explosion of sensation rocketing from his gut outward, propelling his hands to drop his cane and latch onto Wilson's upper arms. He let out a surprised grunt, which was followed quickly by a low moan as Wilson showed House why he had so many girlfriends despite his 'cheating scoundrel' label.

Fireworks went off behind House's eyes and in his brain as Wilson demonstrated the perfect way to combine tongue, teeth, and lips in a kiss. During the few times that House had allowed himself to wonder what it would be like, what it could be like to do this with Wilson, he never thought it would be anything like this. He thought it would be more awkward, less sure, and _House_ would be the one to take the lead.

A hand strolled down House's neck and rubbed gently at his shoulders as the angle of the kiss changed, and House simply followed along. He lifted his own hand and buried it into Wilson's hair, feeling the perfectly cared-for locks between his fingers. He heard Wilson practically purr in response, and the noise sent a shock of arousal racing through House's system, tickling his insides. It was then that House vowed that if Wilson ever stayed overnight at his apartment, he could use that damn blow-dryer whenever. Just as long as his hair was always just like this, always so soft, and always there for House to feel.

"Oh my God."

The noise startled House, causing his eyes to snap open and hands to drop to his sides. Wilson broke away slowly, his own eyes easing open, and looked over House's shoulder. He calmly smiled, his lips glistening and swollen, his hair in disarray, and his eyes dark and dilated.

"Doctors Taub and Kutner," he said simply. "Is there anything House or I can do for you?"

House smirked and turned his head to look over his shoulder, brushing against Wilson's as he did. Taub and Kutner stood in the doorway, mouths dropped open. They unfroze a second later, and Taub spun around, closing the door and flicking the shades shut. As he raced around the office to finish the job, Kutner broke into a large, gleeful smile.

"I _knew it_!" he chirped, pumping a fist into the air. Taub scowled at him, returning to his side and planting his hands on his hips.

"You thought House was screwing Cuddy," he stated. "Thirteen thought House and Wilson were together."

Kutner pouted, crossing his arms. He slouched as he grumbled, "That was a week ago. My opinion can change…"

House and Wilson broke apart, both fighting grins. House turned around and raised an eyebrow at the two of them. "Why were you discussing who I was sleeping with anyway?" he asked. He leered, waggling his eyebrows. "Jealous?"

Taub shrugged. "Bored," he corrected. "And don't assume we all went along. I don't care."

Wilson smirked. "What about Foreman?"

Kutner chuckled. "Your right hand," he chirped, grinning.

House scowled. "And after all the help I gave him," he bemoaned.

Wilson shrugged, planting his hands into his pockets, and grinned. "And what does the winner receive?" he asked.

Kutner shrugged. "Nothing, really," he said. "We were just bored, and decided to diagnose House's love life. The debates were pretty awesome."

House frowned at the two fellows. "It is both a disturbing and proud moment for me to hear this," he said. "Disturbing because you're putting so much thought into my sex life and my interactions… or lack thereof. And proud because you're willing to cross some very big personal boundaries to do so. It's a good day."

Wilson's pager let off a small noise, and he unattached it from his beltline to see it. He sighed and looked up at House, shrugging helplessly. "Patient," he said. After a moment of hesitation, Wilson reached around House's neck and kissed him briefly. Blushing as they parted, he limped backwards, picking up his crutches and shoving them under his arms. House blinked back blankly at him for a moment, reaching up to touch his lips. Wilson then swallowed, raising an eyebrow. "Still coming over tonight for the Monster Truck special?"

House roused himself from his stupor. "Still having free beer and Chinese?" he asked, an eyebrow arching.

Wilson smiled, nodding. "Like I'd forget that."

House then grinned cheerfully. "Then I'll see you there!"

Wilson beamed at him before he turned around and limped towards the exit. Kutner automatically, grabbed the door and opened it for him, smiling at Wilson as he left. As the door swung shut, House reached down to pick up his cane from the floor and resettled his grip. Taub and Kutner watched him, unsure. House smirked back at them.

"That," he began, smug, "is the finest piece of ass in the whole hospital." He cackled gleefully. "And it's all _mine_."

Kutner chuckled and Taub shook his head, smiling. As House went around his desk to take his seat, the two fellows made their way towards the conference room. House turned towards his computer.

"You know," House heard Kutner whisper to Taub, "maybe we should have House drop his pants. You know, just to be sure."

House broke into startled laughter. He looked over his shoulder to spy Kutner grinning at him around the door before it closed. He then turned back to his computer to search for some gay porn to send to Wilson through his email.

Maybe House should have been more startled about this new direction their friendship was going. But, House told himself, this was how Wilson and he had started their friendship in the first place. There was no halfway, no acquaintanceship, no 'hellos'—they simply jumped into their crazy, screwed-up friendship. Maybe it made more sense that they flung themselves into the next stage of their relationship without plotting or planning.

Either way, House was just going to enjoy finally getting what he wanted. Because there were no easy-to-follow, step-by-step processes for falling in love.

Because love that made people eagerly stupid, made people compromise their ideals, made people insane…

_That_ love could make them ridiculously happy.


End file.
